


The Fevers of Wolves

by Ruebell_Uprising



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Dark, Deals With The Devil, Discussions of mpreg, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Kenny is a main character, M/M, Multi, OOC for a Reason, Suicide Kenny Style, actual wolves, creek - Freeform, discussions of abortions, teen mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruebell_Uprising/pseuds/Ruebell_Uprising
Summary: It begins as a tsunami, thrashing the shores of ignorance and naivety, as Tweek's First Heat overwhelms him at school. The undertow drags him, Craig, Kenny and everyone they know and love into a whirlpool of hurt and Heat, hidden agendas and viscous plans.If biology conspires to break wolves apart, then perhaps the unatural can step in to keep them together.





	1. A Day of Needles

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Please skim this quickly as it will help explain the way I fucked with A/B/O conventions
> 
> Mind the tags.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig and Tweek are trapped behind separate doors. Time is marked by the pacing of wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Thank you all so kindly for the comments and kudos, I sincerely appreciate knowing that you're enjoying what I'm writing. 
> 
> I assume some of the content may be confusing for now, with intertangled relationships and a discord between who knows what when some seniors might be having Heats and many freshman never heard of them before.
> 
> This is intentional--and hopefully it'll be fluidly resolved in the future :>
> 
> A little extra: Because these are human wolves and thus are in a society where 1st packs (immediate family) mix with 2nd tiers (close friends), and 3rd tiers (one's social network such as co-workers and peers at school), everyone being in everyone elses business is common and an extra social challenge. There are more tiers depending on age and social activity.
> 
> Chapter lengths aren't standard, I'm just having a hard time breaking up the prose X3
> 
> As always, I may polish some grammar and formatting over time<3

* * *

 

Craig’s legs bounce restlessly so he pulls out his phone to distract him. He can feel the other guy’s eyes on him, but if he asks why he might end up growling and snapping and he doesn’t feel like losing control of his emotions yet.

The damp on his jeans radiates that smell, though it grows fainter as the minutes pass. The denim stiffer where it dried.

He texts his mom that he wants to come home with her and Tweek; then texts Clyde and Token to let them know Tweek is sick and they’re both going home.

He opens facebook and scrolls mindlessly. A text message interrupts eventually.

**FROM: Mom**

**TO: Craig; 1:28PM**

_Dont text me when u know im driving Talk 2 u there_

**TO: Mom** **  
** **FROM: Craig; 1:29PM**

_#Putitdown_

Craig closes the messages app, only for another text to auto-open before facebook reloads

**FROM: Clyde**

**TO: Craig** **;** **1:31PM**

_Fuck man Tell Tweek I say feel better!! u get to go home  too ??_

Craig decides not to text back until he convinced his mom to let him go with her and Tweek. Another buzz alerts him that Token decided to carry his phone today too.

**FROM: Token**

**TO: Craig; 1:33PM**

_Ok. Hope Tweek feels better. Text me what happened later._

“What’s wrong with him?” The senior taps his temple, smirking.

Craig was sure the other student would give up on seeing the nurse and just leave--if he were smarter, he might've. Maybe he just wanted to hang around the lobby all day long.

“Nothing.” Craig replies simply.

“Why'd he come to school if he was going to have it today?” The boy goes on, sniffing the air, chin tilted up. “Oh shit, it’s not his first is it?”

“What are you talking about?”

The senior scoffs. “What the fuck--you dont _know_?”

“Know what? How the fuck do _you--_ ”

“ _Craig!_ ”

Immediately Craig is on his feet, phone clenched in a hand at his hip. Tweek’s shrill voice passes through the heavy locked door desperately. He knows the door is locked, but Craig twists the knob anyways, his hackles raised. Tweek’s howl draws him on pure instinct. He jerks a the doorknob irritatedly.

“ _Craig!”_ Tweek yowls again, and it’s as if the walls rattled. Everything goes black and white before Craig’s slit eyes, and he growls low. Behind the the senior has finally gotten up, cackling to himself though he leaves quickly.

“Tweek!” He calls back, voice betraying none of his inner agitation. “Calm down, I'm right out here!”

“Like being told to calm down would actually work on that boy.”

Laura Tucker’s voice, finely aged with a lifetime of eye-rolls and sarcasm has an instantly settling effect on her son, and he greets her with a middle finger that is returned in kind. He knocks on the door, which is unlocked shortly after.

“Move, Craig.” Laura commands, stepping up when Craig reluctantly gets out of the doorway. Laura gives him a motherly smile before closing and once again locking the door behind her with the flip-bolt.

Inside the room the smell is overpowering. It saturates the small space in thick humidity. Like fresh grounds and sugar and nutmeg caramelizing all at once. Rich enough to be sickly. Laura lifts an orange bandana she brought from home to her nose and mouth to filter some of the scent.

She’d not been expecting this far advanced release of pheromones when she got the call. Tweek’s voice is pitched and afraid, bubbling over a thousand little whimpers and grunts. He’s curled around himself on the bed, eyes wide and tear-filled. Sweat pools in his collarbones and dampens his shirt and hair. His tail alternates between stiff and boneless.

The nurse has a cloth mask over her mouth and nose and is going to turn on a second fan in the corner. She has a bowl with a wet cloth by the sink and next to it are two vials of dark blue liquid and one of white.

“Nurse Simmons?” Laura alerts. Simmons turns around and nods, relieved.

“Thank you for coming so quickly. Tweek’s Heat has come on alarmingly advanced. I was hoping the suppressant Alisiol would stymie it until he could get to the clinic but… He went from Pre-Presentation to Full Induction in what I’m guessing was within a few hours--I asked him exactly when he started feeling this way but he doesn’t seem to remember; today some time no doubt.”

“I’m sorry--It’s been a long time since I--Heat means that Tweek is an--”

“An Alpha or an Omega.”

“Right--but--Both Thomas and I are Betas. Can you tell which…?”

The nurse's face is somewhat grim, displeased with her own assessment. “I’m a Beta as well, but I believe him to be an Omega, if the symptoms I see are accurate. I'm not allowed to diagnose it, as I'm not a doctor, but that’s my opinion."

“Oh,” Laura doesn’t quite know what to say about this; she’s trying to remember who she knows that’s an Alpha or an Omega. Her mind comes up blank.

“Once he’s out of here I’m going to have to have a talk with the principal.” Nurse Simmons grouses, taking the wet washcloth to Tweek’s bed and wiping his face. She’s not really even saying such to Laura. “Tweek? Can you sit up? Mrs. Tucker is here to take you to the doctor.”

Tweek whimpers, and tries to push himself up on trembling arms. He manages after a few failures, exhausted when he does.

“Good job, Tweek. Try to stand now.”

Tweek’s legs swing slowly over the edge of the cot and onto the floor. Waves of dizziness sway his body, but with the nurses help he is up on unsteady legs. He feels another pop of something jelly-like come out of him and it’s all he can do not to cry.

The bed has a dark patch of it where he was laying, and to him this is the worst, leaving a mess--being a bother. “I’m going to ruin your car!” Tweek moans, stumbling into Laura, who wraps a supportive arm around him.

“I put a few towels down on the car seat, Tweek, don't worry, okay?” The fearful way he looks up at her reminiscent of when Tweek was younger, when his and Craig’s relationship was new and the blond overly timid of her and her husband. She remembers how Craig had to teach them how to be more nurturing, and Tweek loved them more than he ever had his own parents.

“O-okay…” 

Together the women get Tweek out of the resting room despite his best efforts to fall over. Craig is back to being just outside the door and he shifts to let them through. He’d taken his chullo off to give space to his sleek black ears, which rose to help track Tweek inside. He’d not been able to understand the words, but he heard the muffled talking of quiet voices and it reassured him that things could not be quite so dire.

As they emerge, Simmons and Laura have Tweek between them, both women leaned sharply towards the short blond doing his best to curl over his aching stomach. He barely seems to notice Craig.

“Mom? Tweek?” The brunette makes to follow them, gathering his and Tweek's stuff.

“Can’t take you with me.” Laura shrugs awkwardly while supporting Tweek, not halting the slow pace towards the door. “And I forgot to bring a pair of pants, so you’re just going to have to tough it out.”

“What?” Craig’s voice strains just a touch, and Tweek hears it and makes an unhappy noise.  

“Go to class. You can take the bus home or get a ride from Token if he drove.” Laura’s voice is firm, raised brows challenging her son to defy her.

Knowing it’s useless he holds out to her Tweek’s backpack with a middle finger. She shoulders it with a huff and flips him off right back. The nurse signs Tweek out quickly on a clipboard hanging by the door. Craig lingers, neatly in the way.

“Go!” Laura snaps.

Craig grabs his backpack and stomps out into the hall, out of the way to let them. He watches Tweek be escorted out the double doors towards the parking lot. His boyfriend too dazed to do more than send Craig a wide-eyed look of panic.

\-----

Thomas calls just after Laura and the nurse get a feverishly panting Tweek buckled into the front seat which is cushioned by three old and ratty towels.

“Hello?” Laura answers tightly, sliding into the driver’s side.

 _“Hi. I got ahold of Dr. Ellen at the clinic, she said to bring Tweek straight there,”_ Thomas informs, his voice stiff and uncomfortable. _“Do.. you need me to go too?”_ He asks, practically praying she will say no.

“ _YES_ Thomas!” Laura replies immediately. “I don’t know any more about this shit than you do! Just meet us at the clinic, got it?”

 _“...Yes dear,”_ He concedes. _“Love you.”_ And hangs up.

Laura heaves a sigh, turns the key, rolls down the windows, flicks on the car fans, and pulls from her spot. South Park’s Community Health Clinic is roughly half an hour away from the high school and Laura gives it a little extra gas as the heavy scent coming off Tweek grows overbearing again.

“I’m s-oRRY,” Tweek rests his cheek against the window pane, soaking in the cold glass despite the stiffness hurting his chattering jaw.

“It’s ok, Tweek,” She sighs yet again, as much a stranger to comfort as Craig had once been. “Just try and rest till we get there.”

Tweek grimaces but closes his eyes.

\-----

Laura slows into a parking spot in the clinic lot some time later, and she quickly turns off the car and gets out, thankful to gulp in fresh air for the time she needs to move around to help Tweek out the passenger door. He’s quietly crying, so overwhelmed by the fever in his body and the growing _need_ invading his senses that he cannot help it.

“I w-want Craig,” He whimpers quietly, looking up at her with wide, hazy eyes. Laura undoes his seatbelt and pulls him out of the car onto his feet.

“You’ll see Craig later today.” She assures him, knowing it might not be true.

Other patients and employees pulling up to the clinic or loitering outside with coffee and smokes look up, some with alarm, some with eyes that darken and become unreadable.

Laura curses a man who suddenly moves away from where he’s been leaning on the handicap ramp guardrail smoking, only to crowd into her and Tweek’s space, pushing them into the concrete side wall.

“Fucker! What the hell is your problem?” She growls, middle finger snapping up at him.

The man--older than herself and maybe older than Thomas too, smartly dressed and keen eyed--sneers at her finger and takes a deep pull of his cigarette, gaze locked onto Tweek calculatingly, whose shaking is starting to resemble a standing seizure.

“You got a ripe Omega there, lady. First Heat I’m guessing? Such a powerful _smell_.” His voice takes on a growl, brown eyes bisected by slitted pupils. “I can help him the _natural_ way.”

The man blocks the Beta mother and Tweek, his steps intentionally predacious. Laura can’t detect the man in terms of “ _Alpha_ ”, but she knows a fucking creep when she meets one.

“Back off!” She yells, and it seems to wake some of the gawkers from their stupor. Simultaneously Thomas bursts out of the clinic’s doors, sensing his wife’s distress and hearing her voice.

Two nurses and Thomas get between the Alpha, Betas and Omega.

“What the hell is going on here? Laura? Get Tweek the fuck inside!” Thomas would have punched the Alpha--that slitted stare still trained on Tweek--the boy frozen by those eyes, as if he saw no one else--but for the nurses that got between them.

“Sir,” A woman with light pink scrubs and black hair in a long swaying ponytail says sternly. “You need to break Fixation immediately! That is _not_ your Omega!”

Laura flips off her husband, relieved to see him, and ushers Tweek inside, nearly half crouched by how little effort Tweek makes as he walks.

Automatic glass doors open, and a bell attached to it which clangs metallic and loud draws attention to the two entering. Behind a plastic window the receptionist looks up from her desk, eyes blinking, nostrils flaring. She beckons to Laura and Tweek and then turns quickly around to say something to a coworker before they reach reception.

“Hi,” The woman greets jovially, forcibly calm as her job requires. “Are you Mrs. Tucker and Tweek Tweak?”

“Yes.”

“Doctor Ellen’s expecting you. Go on through the door to your left and into room six at the end of the hall. We’ll take care of paperwork after he’s been seen. I'll send your husband in when he comes back inside.”

“Alright. Come on Tweek, just a little further.” Laura urges Tweek to take more steps.

“I nEED coffee,” Tweek whines in reply. Everything’s blurry around him, where he’s trapped in _fearalphadominance_ and _hotfeverpain_. Coffee would help. Where’d his thermos even go?

"I'll get you some coffee later." Laura can still feel the eyes of the other people from the lobby on her back after the door closes to room six. Tweek’s pants are soggy and cold and immediately soak the patient's chair paper cover when she gets him up there. His tail’s fur is matted and dripping.

“What is this?” He asks through a pained gasp. “I’m dying? That must be it right? Aren’t I?!” He makes a loud sound, one of his tics exacerbated by stress.

Doctor Ellen knocks twice, enters and locks the door before Laura can finish rolling her eyes.

“Hello Mrs. Tucker, Mr. Tweak. I understand you are this child’s guardian currently?” She wastes no time, taking a seat on a rolling stool and taping a panel on the wall by the small sink, making an inlaid tablet switch on. She swipes screens three times and opens an app.

“Yes, the Tweak’s are out of town. Tweek is my son’s boyfriend so he's staying with us.”

“I see. How old are you Tweek?”

“O-ow...”

“He’s fourteen.”

Dr. Ellen makes a note. “How much do you weigh?”

Tweek coughs and shifts uncomfortably.  

“I need to know what you weigh for the dose of medication.”

Laura taps Tweek’s shoulder when he doesn’t answer, instead just panting through the cramps, curling tighter on the table.

“I don’t know! A-a hundred--and five--I think!” He finally cries, twisting onto his other side. “J-Jesus, Make it STOP!”

Ellen stands, seemingly unaffected by Tweek’s outbursts and opens a cabinet above the sink to retrieve a syringe, a vial of red liquid and a BPI cuff.

She takes the BPI cuff and removes Tweek’s still unbuttoned shirt before velcroing it tight around his bicep. A few pumps of air and several heavy breaths from Tweek and she tears the velcro and sets it aside.

The doctor addresses Laura, as Tweek is clearly becoming unable to process what’s happening.“I would not normally do this, but these are extraordinary circumstances... that are not without consequence.” Craig’s mom takes Tweek’s hand, knowing how her son would be doing so if he were here.

Thomas quietly enters the room, looking for all the world that he'd rather be anywhere else. His shirt is wrinkled at the collar, the corner of his lip bloody. He closes the door and answers Laura's questioning glance with a shake of his head--' _L_ _ater,'_ he mouths.

“I’m going to give him a drug that will forcibly halt his Heat, for now. There are side effects you will need to manage,” She warns. “And unfortunately it’s going to disrupt his cycle _permanently_.” 

Tweek tries his best to hear what's happening, but it's so hard--the world is spinning madly.

"Is that safe?" Laura asks quietly. 

A beat. Doctor Ellen's voice drops quietly. "The alternative is..."

But Tweek can't hear the doctor over the rushing blood in his ears. He just knows that he isn’t safe, and right now all he wants is the familiar scent and arms of his boyfriend.

A few tense minutes later and his pants are opened and lowered, the top of his rear exposed. A cold swipe of antiseptic follows and then a needle slides into the thick muscle of his backside.

\-----

Back at the school, ripples of effect spread out from Tweek’s unexpected Presenting; an Omega as young as Tweek going into Pre-Induction in the middle of the cafeteria with all his Pre-Presenting classmates near him and then _Full Induction_ in the halls--unleashes a cocktail of hormonal, instinctual responses right and left.

Gossip flies from lips--wolves who _knew_ , wolves who’d never heard of _Heat_ s before, wolves who have family who are _Omega_ and _Alpha_. Amused and angry seniors crowing at the younger wolves. Disdain for the human wolf who left, distrust and disgust and curiosity abounds. Cliques huddle together like packs drawing from a herd, plotting and planning and worrying in degrees with narrowed eyes on anyone that draws too near.

For the coffee-rich smell of Tweek’s slick, his whimpers and moans as everything flipped in his brain sent signals to others that it was time to Present as well--being of an age group and part of the 3rd tier pack to the twitchy blond wolf--his schoolmates’ bodies all shudder and prepare for change. Teachers struggle to keep focus on lessons, lost in their own instincts, defenseless against a bomb of horomones blowing up in the cramped halls of a small building.

Kenny, who had been right there when Tweek’s Heat transitioned from Pre-to-Full just like Craig was, feels it hard and it is fucking him up. He’s been dizzy from the end of lunch on, unable to get the thick smell out of his nose. It twisted in his stomach, making him sweat in his patch-work parka which was seemingly holding on to the smell just to torment him.

All day he has only thought of Tweek; how vulnerable the boy is now, how scared and pained he looked. He finds himself wanting to get to Tweek’s side and stay there as extra eyes and claws to protect him. He doesn’t quite know why--Craig is all the protection Tweek needs, surely.

Himself and Tweek… they aren’t even close.

Kenny passes a teacher’s lounge on his way to Study Hall, the door ajar and his wolf ears perk curiously. There’s a reason Kenny knows everything, after all. He plasters himself to the windowless side of the door and closes his eyes to listen.

“--Send everyone home already!” A female’s voice grouses. It’s what’s-her-name, from the Home Economics class he took in Elementary. “I’m sick to my stomach from that disgusting smell. None of my girls can function!”

“I had to repeat myself a dozen times, at least. Nobody’s paying attention to anything now. Everybody’s just screwin’ around.” Mr. Adler, shop class teacher, again.

“I’m not going to send the children home.” PC Principal declares, halting the arguments. “They’re just going to have to learn about these things early, bro. We’re not going to send them home without any information so they can pick up biases towards human wolves that experience Heats.”  

“Is… is that really our place?” A soft, feminine voice protests nervously. Kenny places it as Ms. Ling, the art teacher. “We should leave that to the parents… We don’t even know what the child is...”

“The nurse confirmed the Tweak boy to be an Omega.” The counselor, mister… something, says. Craig would know. “A lot of our students’ parents have only limited information themselves. Classic Alphas and Omegas grow more rare with every generation, especially in a small town like South Park. We can’t rely on them not being prejudiced or having large gaps in their knowledge or even the wrong facts altogether.”

“Well said, bro.” Confirms PC Principal. “As you all may know, not only am I PC but I'm a PC Alpha. It’s my job to help those lower on the Alpha Spectrum and Omegas figure out their changing bodies without judging them. We’ll send a memo to all parents telling them I’m hosting a PTA meeting this Thursday night. I’m also going to call a friend of mine to get some teachers here for early sex ed to replace all independent study classes for the semester.”

“Is that really necessary?” Someone sighs. “It’s just one freshman.”

“‘ _Just one freshman_ ’?” PC Principal repeats, miffed. Kenny can picture him posturing widely. “This shit’s important!”

Kenny moves on.

It’s all anyone can talk about in the halls. The old janitor has gone around and set up fans in the school halls and opened the windows despite the chill outside to try and get rid of the smell. He spends nearly two hours grumbling to himself while mopping up and sanitizing places Tweek had been, including the nurse's office.

Kenny is surprised to see Craig in Study Hall when he gets there, glaring at nothing.

“What're ya still doing here?” Kenny asks him, muffled in his old hood, taking the empty desk besides the black wolf.

“What do you want?” Craig asks after a moment, eyeing Kenny suspiciously.

“Nothing, just … y’know. I would'a thought you’da gone on home with Tweek.”

Craig’s focus detaches, going distant for a moment before he scowls. “They wouldn’t let me. I tried.”

The hooded blond hums thoughtfully. “What the hell even happened?” _How much do you honestly know what happened?_ He means.

“You were there. Tweek… I dunno. Got sick, or something.”

“The teachers are sayin' he went into _Heat_ ," Kenny corrects, pushing a little. “He fuckin’ went into Heat _in school_. How did he not like--know to stay home?”

“The fuck should I know?” Craig growls, getting out a textbook he’s not going to read and a notebook he’s only going to scratch angrily in. He just wants to go, be by Tweek's side and know his boyfriend is okay. His spazy gets overwhelmed by a cold; it wouldn't be surprising if he couldn't tell this was something much different until it was too late.

Not to mention his parents, who never would’ve taught him about it, leaving Tweek ignorant of his own body. Craig’s not positive his own folks know anything either.

“I guess you wouldn't.” Kenny concedes, pulling out some books from his ratty old backpack. Looking around, he doesn’t think many others will be getting much studying done either--everyone has far away expressions on their faces and excited rumor on their lips.

Craig doesn't voluntarily talk to Kenny the rest of the period, and the second the last bell rings he’s out and on the way to the bus circle, ready to get the fuck out of there and be with Tweek.

Kenny is close behind, though he climbs onto a different bus, grabbing a seat up front with Cartman, Stan, Kyle, Jimmy and Butters.

They’d barely sat down before the rumor mill chatter exploded through the bus, waving up and down like tides with different _I wonder_ s and _what if_ s on the crests.

“B-Boy did you fellas hear about all what happened! A-ay’ve had a big ole’ headache all day long!” Butters starts in a hurry the second the door closed and the bus kicked into gear.

“How could we miss it?” Stan comments, face blank. “It’s all anyone can talk about and--”

“--It was the most disgusting smell,” Kyle sniffs, finishing Stan’s sentence easily, his nose scrunched tight. “I sure as fuck hope I don't get a Heat; I’d be fine being a Beta if I don't have to deal with that.” He’s got his phone out, Googling articles about Heats, opening links about Omegas, Betas and Alphas in separate tabs.

“I-I-I’ll say,” Jimmy agrees. “I’m used to w-w-weir-weir-r---bizarre shit happening, b-but that t-t-takes the cake.”

Cartman sneers. “If Tweek was going to come to _skool_ and fuck up everybody's day I’d’ve liked a bit of goddamned warning!”

“Seriously, his parents should’ve kept him home if he was going to hit Heat soon.” Stan agrees mildly. “They should’ve known he’s an Omega by now.”

Kenny doesn’t get a chance to pipe up--Kyle goes over his words to get there first.

“Actually, an Omega shouldn’t go into Heat until they’re at least sixteen,” Kyle informs authoritatively, scanning his phone’s display. “Alphas aren’t supposed to until they're sixteen or so either. And it says here that there are things that can cause a wolf to develop early and skip a Pre-Heat Presentation--which makes sense, right? A lot of illegal drugs but caffeine’s high on the list too. Tweek’s been drinking coffee since he was born.” He knew the kid’s parents were idiots. “It would make sense.”

“I bet his mom’s titty milk was just coffee.” Cartman snickers. “Jesus what the fuck did his parents do to him?” An echo of a long-held sentiment.

“Gross,” Kenny mumbles, slouching into his foam and rubber seat, growing distracted by his own fluttering stomach and the upcoming chaos.

“It’s true!”

“Still gross.”

Stan adjusts his hat, leg jittering. “Omegas,” The word stirs something inside Stan, but he has no idea what. “What else does it say about them?”

“Uh,” Kyle’s green eyes fixate on his phone, dissecting the text for the most relevant bits. “‘Omegas are really rare--usually a family tree might have just two Omegas every other generation.’”. He scans a little further down. “‘Alphas are much less uncommon but unlike Omegas there’s a lot of Alphas that are closer to being Betas in the spectrum, with milder heats.

‘A Classic Alpha usually has violent tendencies or a highly domineering personality. Classic Alphas are almost as rare as Omega’s and should not be around them unless they’re mated because of their violent nature.’” Kyle’s eyes flick up to Cartman, who raises an eyebrow at him above a growing smirk. Kyle rolls his eyes back to the screen.

The bus pulls up to it’s first stop, letting out Jimmy and a few others.

“S-s-see ya guys,” Jimmy waves as he climbs off. Stan and Kenny hold up their hands for a quick wave.

The bus starts to move again before Kyle speaks again, almost to himself.

“Dude...”

“What?”

“It says here that _all_ Omegas can get pregnant; girls AND boys.”

“Holy moley!” Butter’s exclaims.

A few beats of silence and then Cartman breaks into obnoxious guffaws that override the other conversations on the bus, catching attention from the other students.

“Are you kidding me?” He demands too loudly between peals of mirth. “Tweek can have that asshole Craig’s butt babies?”

Kyle glares, waiting for Cartman’s laughter to die down before he corrects him. It doesn’t, so he growls over him anyways.

“ _No,_ it says here that Omegas can only get pregnant from an Alpha with something called a 'knot'. We don't know if Craig’s going to be an Alpha and have one or not.”

“Tweek shouldn’t be allowed to get pregnant--that baby would be seriously fucked up!” Cartman howls, ignoring Kyle's words. “And it’ll have to be sent to the Crack Baby orphanage!”

"Tweek's _not_ on  _crack_ , fatass!"

“D-does that mean that everybody has a-a uterus? Just in case they're an Omega too?” Butters asks, but is also ignored.

“Shut the fuck up Cartman, you’re literally the worst.” Kyle huffs, just _done_ with him. Cartman slaps his own leg and pretends to get himself under control, pudgy cheeks billowing with restrained chortles.

“Why do I feel like I've never even heard of these things before,” Stan grumbles. “Do we even know any Alphas or Omegas?”

None of them can think of anyone. Maybe Mr. Slave but who knows for sure?

“But we can't ALL have parents who are just Betas, right?” Kyle persists.

“A-ay don’ wanna be no Omega or nuthin’,” Butters mumbles, rubbing his fists together. “M-my dad would probably ground me.”

“I dunno Kyle, this all sounds fake as fuck.” Stan slumps into his seat, shrugging at Butters’ comment.

Kenny can't help but want to agree--the little bubble over South Park’s ninth graders is bursting, and though they've been wolves their whole lives it doesn't change how infrequently they’ve been told about anything useful concerning it.

“And an Omega’s heat--especially their first one,” Kyle begins to summate, unable to resist his initial research. “Is exceptionally intense and sex driven. They used to--ah gross!” Kyle’s eyes pinch closed, the bridge of his nose compressed between his fingers. “They used to _sell_ Omegas Heats,” Voice twisted bitterly. “And use them as dowries for arranged marriages.”

“Are you for serious?” Butters asks, wide-eyed.

“It’s still legal to sell an Omega’s Heat as long as they provide consent before the Heat begins. But the law requiring written consent is less than fifteen years old and their can still parents sign off on a _sale_ in the Omega’s place. What the fuck is wrong with people?” Kyle sets his phone down in his lap, which he clicks off, tired of the topic for now.

“That’s messed up.” Stan agrees instantly. He’s relieved to see the conversation dying, though. Tweek is going to come back to school and it’ll all just be another singular, weird event in South Park. It’s really just Craig and Tweek’s problem after all.

That’s his wishful thinking.

\-----

Craig forced Clyde to scoot in and let him have the aisle seat across from Token, forcing the pudgy brunette to pull his backpack into his lap with a pout.

Both his friends share a glance behind Craig’s back.

“So, uh,” Token starts.

“No.” Craig cuts him off. “I can’t tell you anything--I have no fucking clue what happened.” 

“Aw c’mon!” Clyde whines. “We _all_ know Tweek came to school and hit puberty in the hallway!”

“Clyde!” Token chides.

“What? He totally did.”

“The teacher’s sent out email or phone notices for all the parents. Hopefully they’ll tell us something more.” Token reasons. "Drop it until then or Craig might punch you."

Craig rolls his eyes; his parents might, because of Tweek, but he can’t count on anyone elses’. Token’s, Wendy’s, Kyle’s probably--though he likely spent all day googling what’s happened on his cell and knows more than they do. Speaking of…

Craig pulls out his phone; he has no new messages.


	2. Hallways and Nurses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek is ill, but he doesn't know what's wrong with him. The nurse is quite alarmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings. While working on the new Hogwarts chapter, this became an obsession that wouldn't let me go. 
> 
> Please understand this is self-indulgent darkness, sinister and wicked and cruel and I do not condone any of the terrible things which take place. There will be light and fluff too, as I cannot resist <3
> 
> I am not holding back in this story, please take care of yourself. 
> 
> Tweek is the only character I’ve ever written that truly deserves to use “?!” as grammar. 
> 
> Prone to edits; this is a very hard fic so far to seperate into chapters (being almost X0 pages long from different parts of the story at a large text size). 
> 
> And remember, sex education is very important.

Chapter 1:

* * *

  
“It's just a FEVER,” Tweek hisses to himself, rocking back and forth on his bench in the lunchroom, oblivious to the other students around him. He shakes his head,  _no._ “O-oh God, what if I do have a fever?”

Tweek’s worried eyes shut, tight, his anxious lips bitten between stressed canines. “I can't have a fever… if I have a fever then… _wah_!” His voice hiccups over a cry, “Nonono, it’s not going to be… I'm okay... Coffee...”

Slowly he releases the hair trapped around his fingers, trembling hands tugging, claimed by distress. He reached for his silver thermos, the metal is warm enough yet to help relax his fingers and loosen wound tendons. It’s scalding, but not too badly that he wants to put it down.

He couldn't bring himself to get lunch, not with is stomach in knots like this; he would surely have lost the food shortly after eating it.

The collar of his green button up is dampened with sweat. Beneath the table jitters his foot. He’s never felt so hot inside, stomach twisting and bunching together painfully, rolling with nausea and cramping over itself like a snake. He moans, dropping his head onto the table, and doesn’t hear his boyfriend approach.

“Tweek?” Craig asks quietly, “You okay?” Tweek turns his head to look up at Craig blearily, soft whimper in his throat.

Wide eyes blurry with fever, sweat on the forehead and a pale complexion--not okay. Craig catalogs his boyfriend’s appearance to try and deduce how to handle him, confused, as Tweek had been fine that morning. He sits down next to the blond with his own tray, looking up briefly to see the rest of the guys on the way back from the lunch line to sit with them.

Tweek’s muscles jolt, grunting and whining lowly between huffs for breath. Craig scoots a little closer, pressed to Tweek’s side and places one hand over his own forehead and the other onto Tweek’s. The boy shudders, and it rolls like a wave through his constant tremors.

“Tweek you’re burning up.” He says quietly. “You should go to the nurse.”

“N-nurse!” Tweek gasps, hands in his hair again, eyes wide at Craig, interrupting Kyle and Stan’s agitated conversation about something Cartman said as they approach the table with their food with Clyde, Token and Kenny behind them. “I can’t go to the nurse! What if she wants to do horrible experiments on me?!”

“She doesn’t babe.” He insists calmly, helping to disentangle his boyfriend's fingers from his hair again. “I’ll go with you and it’ll be okay.”  

Tweek doesn’t move for a moment, making strained noises while Craig waits for the words to compute past the anxiety.

“ _Nn--_ okay!”

Craig gets back off the bench and stands up, offering Tweek a hand to help him up too. Tweek’s obvious discomfort, the way he clutches his stomach and shakes, the clammy heat of his skin is enough to prove to Craig this isn’t a normal panic attack. He quickly shoulders both his backpack and his boyfriend’s.

“You guys alright?” Kyle asks, assessing the situation now he and Stan are setting their food down as well. Craig can see Cartman lumbering over from the line with two trays out of the corner of his eye. Clyde, Token, Kenny take spots as well, but make no move to eat yet with concern for Tweek and Craig.

“Yeah, just taking Tweek to the nurse.” Craig shrugs when Tweek fails to offer any explanation.

“Oh, uh, feel better Tweek,” Clyde murmurs, fiddling with his chocolate milk carton. He pauses to hand Tweek his thermos of coffee.

“T-Tha-- _ow_!” Tweek hisses, his posture curling protectively over his middle. “Thanks Clyde,” He forces, and Craig drapes an arm around him to usher his Tweek from the cafeteria.

“Oh, hey Craig, going to make out with your boyfriend, eh?” Cartman teases, finally arriving at the table just to see them leaving. “Mind if I eat your lunch? Can’t be wasting food you know cuz there’s starving kids in Africa or some bullshit.”

Craig offers him a finger.

On the way out Tweek shakes against him, thin body tensing and snapping like dozens of taut rubber bands all firing off at once. Craig keeps a firm hand on Tweek's shoulder, aptly steering him when distraction dogged his steps.

“M-my locker,” The blond grinds out after a few minutes, knowing he needs some of his books before going home--assuming the nurse will even let him go--doubly assuming he wouldn’t be expelled forever for going home. “Can we stop there first?”

“Sure,” Easy enough to curve, turn down the next hall towards the blue lockers lined against the wall. Tweek breaks away to drag his fingers over the dangling combo locks until he reaches his own, where he rests his forehead against the chilly metal. It feels so good on his heated skin, and chills roll down his body. Hazel eyes close as Tweek absorbs the cool, relaxing even with the loud clattering of his locker’s door from his own shaking.

He’s groping blindly at his own lock, dizzy brain struggling to connect numbers with purpose when he feels it, a hot _spurt_ from between his legs, thin and slippery trickling down towards his ankles. In Tweek's fear he believes it to be  **blood** , draining his life away.

“ _Nooo_ ,” Tweek moans, shocked and frozen and having trouble breathing with the horrible thoughts of falling apartin front of his boyfriend while those deep blue eyes study him. There isn't time to do more than lament allowing Craig to walk him to the nurse, for pain shrieks through Tweek’s belly and chest and throat all the way up into the crown of his head; choking him, ripping the breath from his lungs. It’s a wonder he doesn’t fall.

Craig sets the thermos and both their backpacks onto the floor. “Tweek? Honey? What’s going on?” Craig’s inflection changes none from calm and quiet, but Tweek can smell the worry on him. Twin ears, tipped white and scraggly at the edges unfurl several shades lighter from under Tweek’s bright blond hair.

A thickly furred tail pushes out from beneath his dark green button up.

“What are you feeling?” Craig tries again, his voice gone tight with worry at this unusual event. Over the years he’d perfected helping Tweek pick his actual feelings out from the tangled threads in webs slowly constricting his body to bloated black pieces.

“S-scarED.” Tweek whimpers in his high-pitched strain. “I f-feel scared!”

Craig dares to rest a hand lightly on Tweek’s back, worry blossoming into a low fear of his own as Tweek cringes from his touch as if he’d been clawed. Craig retracts his hand, working on his words and only vaguely noticing the voices in the background.

“That’s horrible. I don’t want you to feel scared. What’s scaring you, Tweek?”

Tweek can hear what Craig has tuned out, for his wolf ears are tender to every noise; a predator with the disposition of a meerkat. Kenny McCormick has found them, has already leaned into the nearest classroom and asked the teacher inside to call for the nurse and moved to the other side of the boys, warily eyeing them, cautiously sniffing.

“Because it _hurts_!” Snaps Tweek, when his senses return from Kenny, fighting back tears while trying to keep _whatever it was_ from leaking from him again as he feels it wanting to. “Be-because I’m-- _urgh_!--embarrassed!”

Craig intentionally gasps, forcing his voice to raise in concern, though barely louder than his common drone. He pets Tweek's side gently. “It must be very scary to feel those things,” Coaxing at Tweek’s vague ability to _calm._ While reaching a hand to move Tweek’s from uselessly spinning the dial of his lock; he’s had his boyfriend’s combination memorized for months now, and it clicks open for him a moment later. “What else are you feeling?”

“S-s-sick, Craig! I feel so sick!” Craig shifts closer, crowding into Tweek’s space, urging the blond into his arms. The thin blond’s tail curls between his legs, ears flattened low. He leans into Craig’s chest, shaking fit to shatter.

“No wonder you’re so worried.” Craig soothes automatically. “It'll be okay--the nurse is coming to us.”

“I think my guts are falling out,” Tweek cries, the volume of his voice fluctuating in pain.

Craig’s reply is overwritten by Kenny’s muffled voice beckoning the nurse. She joins them at a brisk walk, her low heels clacking loudly on the linoleum. Kenny trots up as well, visibly concerned and curious.

“Thank you Mr. Tucker for keeping him calm,” Nurse Simmons urges Tweek back out of Craig’s embrace to get him to lean against the locker again. “Mr. Tweak, can you hear me?”

Tweek nods, though his gaze has caught Craig’s and seems reluctant to let go, even for the flash of time it takes to blink.

“Very good. Can you describe what you’re feeling right now?” She asks, already beginning her examination with a long inhale through her nose at the juncture of Tweek’s neck and shoulder. A deep frown mars her young face, and she opens the bag she’d brought with her.

“My-my stomach hurts _so much_!” Tweek grinds out. “Like I’m being stabbed! Or-or like someone’s ripping out my guts!”

“You’ll be okay soon, sweetie.” Craig resists taking Tweek’s hand in his, instead offering words that could be or could not be true. Tweek’s anxious, pain-laden grunts grow louder; body tightening and curling over another flaming lance.

A thick smell begins to fill the hall, rich and warm, mocha and coffee beans and sugar. It radiates like fog, seeping out of the blond wolf like an aura.

Unexpectedly the nurse curses, too loud to be intentional and under her breath, not meant to be really heard by the students, but a curse of _shit_.

“Tweek?” Craig asks, nose wrinkling at the unfamiliar odor; it’s not what his boyfriend normally smells like, even if he normally carries the aroma of coffee around with him, and for the black wolf it’s like suddenly seeing a stranger where his longtime Tweek used to be.

Next to Craig the snooping McCormick has gone still as well, trapped by the scent coming off his sort-of-friend. Similarly tensed is the nurse herself, pausing too long over the spread of her toolbag.

She purses her lips and breathes out long through her nose. “Tweek, are you feeling unusually warm? As if you have a fever before the chills set in?”

“A--ah-uh--yes! Exa-CTLY!” His wide eyes are wild, increasingly desperate for answers. “What’s wrong with me?!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have time for discretion,” She apologizes, coming back into action by quickly pulling two empty syringes from her unfolded tool spread and a small vial from which she draws a large dose of a swirling, creamy liquid in one of the medicine chambers.

“Is your penis erect?” She asks seriously. “Are you feeling irrationally angry?” Simmons flicks the glass with her fingernail and depresses the plunger briefly to release any bubbles in the liquid.

Tweek groans, eyes clenched shut, horrified. “Jesus! N-NO!”

Simmons pauses, bites her lip and flips to another section of her toolkit.

“Do you feel a viscous discharge or a thin discharge from your rectum?”

“Oh dear God, oh sweet Jesus save me! I--” Tweek’s cheeks flare red, and Craig shoots a glare at the nurse and then at Kenny, hoping to prevent Tweek’s mortification over being teased by this all later.

“Mr. Tweak,” The nurse urges firmly. “Thick like jelly or thin like sweat?”

“ _Ack_! I’m sorry! Yes! Like--like-- it was sweat but--Oh God--it keeps coming! Now it’s like jelly! Is it _blood?!_ Am I dying?! Shit, I’m dying!”

“You are not dying, but you need to try and calm down. You will be fine.” Her voice is a block of ice.

The syringe with the white liquid is discarded and a new one with blue liquid is quickly filled. Craig’s alarmed to see her hands shaking, just a little and he can only tell from years of watching Tweek go from stone still to nearly seizing.

“Mr. Tucker, would you kindly hold him in place for me? Mr. Tweak, I am going to give you a shot which should lessen some of the pain so we can get you out of here and to a doctor, do you understand?”

“ _Ngh!”_ Tweek’s fingers bury deep into his hair, twisting and yanking. “ _Pressure!_ ”

“It’ll be okay,” Craig soothes, pushing Tweek forward a step and getting behind him with his back to the lockers warmed and wet from Tweek’s body heat and sweat. First he removes his boyfriend’s fingers from his blond hair and then straightens his thin arms. Tweek finds the hem of Craig’s blue sweatshirt and squeezes it with both hands.

Unfortunately Tweek never gave up on wearing longsleeved shirts that must be buttoned up, forcing Craig to undo the three poorly matched buttons and pull the shirt off Tweek’s bony shoulders.  

Then he wraps both arms around Tweek over his arms to trap them at the blond’s side. He tries to use his greater height and strength to quell the surging quakes spasming through Tweek’s body in an unending, self powering current. Pressed so close to Tweek Craig can feel the “discharge” that’s soaking down the back of the blond’s pants now dampening the front of his jeans.

Definitely going to skip the rest of his classes and go home for a shower, but only after he knows Tweek will actually be going to the doctors and not just go back to an empty house.

That rich smell coming from Tweek is starting to make him feel lightheaded. Offhandedly Craig notices that Kenny has vanished, as he will, while the nurse looms beside them with the shot.

“Oh Jesus,” Tweek mumbles, eyes snapping shut and squeezing. Craig’s fingertips find Tweek’s trembling stomach and press very lightly. He barely notices doing it.

Simmons stabs Tweek’s shoulder quickly and with little finesse after a quick, insincere swipe of a sterilizing tissue. She depresses the liquid as if there’s truly a race against something and withdraws it immediately after it empties. She doesn’t bother with a bandaid and fits a hand around Tweek’s upper arm to lead him away.

“Thank you Mr. Tucker, now please let go so I can take Mr. Tweak to my office and call his parents.”

Craig lets go of Tweek and separates his fingers from Craig’s sweatshirt, but when the nurse draws him away from Craig the brunette suddenly doesn’t want to lose that scent and warmth of quivering body.

He trails behind the nurse, who grows visibly agitated as they get further down the hall. Tweek keeps grunting and looking back at him between spasms of pain and abdomen clutching. One of his wolf ears swivels to face Craig.

“Yes, Mr Tucker?” Simmons finally growls after they’ve passed a classroom door jammed full of peering, curious wolf-humans sniffing the air and talking to each other, all eyes trained on the nurse and Tweek.

“Uh,” He double steps to catch up. “Can you call my parents instead? They help with Tweek a lot and his parents are--” Incompetent. Dismissive; useless. Above all--absent.

“Out of town!” Tweek inserts in the last millisecond of an exhale. “I-I’m staying with Craig for the week!”

The nurse freezes, and curses again, much louder than the first time. “Fine! There are sticky notes on the desk--go write your home number down and then pick a seat in the lobby and _stay there_!” She pushes Tweek inside and ushers him past her reception desk in the lobby--a lone student is looking up from his cell phone as she rushes in, the display window showing the pause screen of candy crush; he’d heard and smelled them coming and his eyes train on Tweek--and into the resting rooms.

Craig glares at the student--recognizing him as a senior--and goes over to the well organized desk. As told, Craig finds a pad of half-sized orange post its in the center of the desk and a cup of pens within easy reach. He jots down his home number and then picks a seat opposite the other student that gives him an angle to see a bit of the back room where Tweek is. The boy isn’t visible but he can hear his verbal tics and uncomfortable moans and the nurse bustling around.

A few minutes later she charges out of the room, turns, and closes the door before locking it with a key drawn from her scrub pants pocket. She then shuffles quickly to the desk, scans the post it quickly and picks up her coded phone, pressing the numbers quickly.

The other side connects after six rings. _“Hello?”_

“Hello, this is nurse Aubrey Simmons at South Park High School. I have Tweek Tweak here sick and Craig, who tagged along to insist I call you because the Tweaks are out of town?” She curves the end of the sentence into a question, her hard eyes finding and holding Craig’s while she awaits confirmation.

The reply is slow to come, but confident when it does.

_“Yes, that is correct. Tweek is staying with us for a few days.”_

“I see.” The nurses glare slides away from Craig and she sits at the desk to pull up Tweek’s file on her computer. “Well, I’m calling because I need you to come pick up Tweek right away. He’s not doing well and--” Her voice drops as if she could speak too quietly for other wolves to hear. “It’s a very specific kind of _fever_.”

The response on the other end takes a moment again. _“...Oh, I see. I’ll be there as soon as I can and I’ll have my husband call the clinic while I’m on the way.”_

“Very good, we’ll be in my office. Oh, and please bring Craig a change of pants--some of it got on him when he was hugging Tweek.”

Craig jolts, ready to protest letting Tweek go without him; letting that--that _smell--_ go without him. He’s already starting to feel antsy because of being cut off from Tweek and the invading scent of the annoying audience and the nurse.

“...Yes,” The nurse sighs. “He’s visibly affected. It's affecting everyone, I guarantee it. No doubt there’ll be an emergency PTA meeting this week.”

Simmons hangs up shortly after that, assured Laura Tucker is on her way and aware of the situation’s severity. and unlocks the resting room. “Mr. Tucker please knock on the door when your mother arrives.” She locks the door from the inside before Craig works up a response. The door being open for less than a minute was still enough to leak that dark aroma into the room with renewed pungency. He can hear Tweek groaning and whining inside.

It stirs something angry inside him, a possessive spark that resent being on this side of the door. The clock ticks loudly in the corner, the slow march of time waiting for something--and, answers, answers would be nice.


	3. Warm Attics. One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a warm light in the attic trying to chase away the ghosts. Vibrant blue eyes meet his in the gloom and everything is alright.
> 
> Just for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank every one of you for the kindest of words and clicks you've given me. Thank you for encouraging me to continue onward! I love hearing what you think at each mark <3
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy this too

* * *

 

Laura and Thomas Tucker are in the livingroom when Craig unlocks the front door. He pauses halfway in the door, only frozen because he had been sure one of them would have texted him when they got home, but his inbox was still empty.

They’re also incredibly still, not moving to acknowledge Craig returning. Thomas is in his armchair, Laura on the sofa holding a coffee mug with both hands, staring at the floor.

“Hey, someone want to tell me what’s going on?”

Thomas’ face takes on a look Craig can recall seeing only once before--when he and Tweek had been first paired up by the Asian girls.

“Where’s Tweek?” Craig asks, sniffing the air. He smells coffee, but it’s coming from the kitchen and is not the cloying, heady scent of Tweek’s body. If he was here there would be no missing it.

Craig stalks towards the stairs. “Wait, honey.” Laura halts him, her voice tired of the day. “Come in here for a minute and I’ll tell you what we know.”

He almost wants to ignore her, go to the guest room Tweek’s staying in and see for himself if Tweek is there. But he doesn’t, he wants answers first so he can help Tweek with whatever he’s feeling. He doesn’t want to sit next to his mother so he  folds his legs on the carpet with her opposite him over the coffee table.

She doesn’t begin immediately and Craig rolls his eyes. “Well?”

“Tweek is here.” Laura starts. “We came back about an hour ago and let him have a bath. I think he’s sleeping.”

“Okay.” He accepts. Waits.

“W-well you obviously don’t need me to fill in our son--” Thomas hedges nervously, making to stand.

“You get up now and you’ll be sleeping where my ass is for a week.” Laura threatens calmly. Thomas gulps, sits. “Listen, Craig, I don’t know what the kids at your school do or don’t already know, but I’m sure a few of them have guessed right. Doctor Ellen at the community clinic examined Tweek--he _is_ an Omega, and what happened to him today is because of that.”

“His Heat.” Craig answers.

“That’s right. Normally an Omega going into Heat, even the first time, isn’t so dramatic. But Tweek is only fourteen, and we both know he doesn’t eat enough. At this age he would’ve just been starting a Pre-Presentation, so he’d be ready when it happened in a couple years.”

Craig listens closely, face as blank as his father’s is uncomfortable.

“Is he okay?” He asks. “Why can’t I smell him anymore?”

Laura answers slowly. “He’ll be fine. The doctor gave him a shot to end his Heat and some pills to take for a week. Its killed his scent glands for a few days.”

“Then why do you look like someone died?” He glares suspiciously. “Stripe is okay, right?”

“He’s-- _what_? Your guinea pig? Stripe is fine.” She gives him such a _look_. “Today’s just been very long, Craig. The parent’s school message board is going crazy and...” She nips her lower lip. “Tweek’s mother texted me to say they’re coming back early because of what happened. To be here in time for the PTA meeting." She falters, agitated. "They want Tweek to go open the coffee shop in the morning since he's not going to school.”

Craig tenses, looking down. “I thought it was being renovated.”

“I guess it’s done already.” Is her cagey reply. Tweek Bros being closed is the only reason the Tweak parents were out of town, and the building being updated kept them from making their fourteen year old run the place completely alone in the mornings and evenings.

Craig stays where he is, inwardly horrified at the thought of Tweek being at the coffee shop when he just went into first Heat. He's got to be sick or... needing recovery. Or just a day off. It’s not something he wants to think about, so he waits for his mother to dismiss him.

“They’ll be here around noon. Why don’t you go see Tweek now?”

\------

Craig took the stairs briskly, his backpack slapping against this side. He tosses it into his room, ducks inside just to confirm Stripe number seven is okay--which he is--and moves quickly down the hall to the dropped ladder to the attic. Up there is the makeshift guest room--all the crap stored up there shoved to one end and a portion under the window well swept with a made up air bed and small nightstand hosting a lamp on it. There’s also a small television sitting atop a four-drawer dresser.

Tweek is on the bed, one arm flung over his eyes, other hand spasming in his hair. He’s got one of Craig’s large tee shirts on an a pair of boxers.

“Hey Tweek,” Craig alerts quietly. “How are you feeling?”

Tweek’s response is a predictable yelp in his raspy strain, jackknifing up to sitting. His wild eyes find Craig slowly, first sweeping through the attic for ghosts and monsters.

“Craig,” Tweek smiles crookedly, left eye squeezing sharply closed. He flaps a hand at the brunette, beckoning him closer. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Craig can’t help but snort fondly, lips edging upwards. He finishes climbing up and takes a side of the bed, flopping onto his back. He tugs the back of the shirt Tweek borrowed until the boy lies down beside him.

"As if."

 _He’s cold,_ Craig observes, rolling onto his side facing Tweek. _He was burning up earlier._ He lifts an arm and Tweek wiggles close until his nose brushes Craigś neck and the other wolf’s arm falls over his waist.

It’s like having his arm over a vibrating plushie, the kind with a pull string. Something he could’ve won at a carnival. The feeling is pleasant, and holding Tweek is his favorite thing to do.

He buries his nose in Tweek’s clean hair, still damp from his bath, and takes a deep breath. Even this close to him Tweek doesn’t have a scent that stands out--whatever he had been given must have been strong enough to completely undo everything the boy’d gone through that day.

“Tell me how you’re feeling?” Craig asks again quietly, adjusting the pillow to support both their necks better. He’s all about taking a nap with Tweek, get rid of this dumb fuck day. Whether Tweek would sleep or not is another thing.

Tweek makes a gurgling noise in the base of his throat and twitches closer to Craig, resentful of the small spaces between them.

“I feel floaty, and tired. N-need coffee, but your mom said not til dinner.” There’s a stress on that last bit, an anxiety there. Being without his comfort drink always put him on edge, without his thermos or mug it was like something was missing, a pen when he had to write, or a homework for class.

Craig soothes a hand through Tweek’s soft hair, gentling through a few tangles. “Might be a good idea. Maybe you can sleep some.” He adds when he feels Tweek’s sharp inhale and muscles tense. “For now it’s nap time.”

“But Craig--”

“Nope, nap time.” He loses the fight with a tender smile that Tweek can’t see. The relief that his precious spaz seems okay is really all he wants to think about.

Tweeks attempts to relax enough to sleep are adorable, the noises he makes less wolf and more guinea pig in need of lettuce and yogurt drops. Warm darkness creeps over Craig’s senses and he falls into it readily. He doesn’t know if Tweek falls asleep with him, but he’s there all the same.

\------

Tricia gets sent upstairs to wake them up for dinner. She climbs the attic ladder and through the open hatch with bored trepidation. After a ridiculous day of kids and adults freaking out she’s not sure what to expect when she gets up there.

Ah, thankfully her brother and Tweek have all their clothes on, and the lamp is glowing quietly beside the bed. Craig is still asleep, one arm draped over Tweek’s stomach and his face mostly hidden. Tweek’s eyes are open, staring at the ceiling. A faint tremor shakes him now and then, but it no longer even disturbs Craig’s light snores.

Tweek’s eyes roll towards Tricia, though he can’t quite see her until she’s fully in the room, holding back a snicker at her clingy big brother.

“W-what do you want?” Tweek asks nervously in a fluctuating voice. He’s not quite capable of whispering, but he tries.

“Mom said to get you two for dinner.”

Tweek’s neck jerks, maybe a nod. His eyes flit around the dark room and onto Craig.

“Okay--okay. I’ll wake him up.” He doesn’t see Tricia nod, but hears her leave. Tweek lies there for a cycle of breaths, steeling his tender stomach, listening to Craig sleeping, grateful for the comfort of it. 

When he starts growing anxious that they're making Craig’s family wait too long Tweek shifts his body, moves his arms, pats Craig's cheek gently, controlling himself sternly so he doesn't accidentally poke Craig in the eye and make him blind forever.

“MMmmm,” Craig groans, putting weight in the arm covering Tweek. “What time is it?”

“D--DINNER TIME!” Tweek’s soft voice cracks, jumps, and hiccoughs off into a trail of unfinished sounds. His stomach gives a lurch, sharp and warning. He wiggles under Craig’s arm as if to get out of the bed.

Craig barely winces, blue eyes half-lidded at the nervous boy. “Fiiiiine,” He rolls over, on top of Tweek, dropping his body and squishing Tweek into the mattress and enjoying how he squeaks over it.

“Noooo--Craig! What if my lungs collapse?! We’ll be late and Tricia will eat all the food and we’ll both starve to death!”

“You won’t have to starve to death if your lungs have collapsed, babe.” Craig reasons, snorting with amusement into Tweek’s collarbone.

“ _Ngh--_ She--we need to--” His stomach wants out. Craig doesn’t know. He won’t say.

Craig sighs loudly, rolling again until he’s mostly off Tweek. They meet eyes and there’s a jest that Tweek sees in Craig’s expression, and Tweek grunts, smiles a little and pushes on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“ _Agh,_ Craig! Okay, I get it! Up!” He swallows, again, thrice. He stays smiling--Craig doesn’t know.

It’s always good to win. Craig slides off the bed and onto the floor head first, and Tweek’s fearful gasp turned giggles is worth the awkward way his neck is compressed. The blond wobbles his way out of the bed, unsteady on his feet but reaching down to help Craig up.

“I-I’m gunna wash my hands,” Tweek pauses when they’re at the bottom of the ladder to say. “Germs, man,”

“Okay.” Craig heads on down, and Tweek waits until he’s turned the corner to close the bathroom door behind him. He hits the water and breathes heavily at the sink, waiting for the nausea to pass. Instead the ache in his backside where the needle halted his Heat throbs and Tweek pushes from the sink, kneeling in front of the toilet.  

He feels weaker, but better when he flushes, and his mouth is cleaned with the toothbrush he brought from home. He walks downstairs carefully, trailing a hand on the wall. By the time he’s down he’s hidden the weakness.

Everyone is in the living room where the table is set up in a corner. Tweek moves quickly to help Laura finish setting the table. He does it to be polite, because he feels he owes them, and they let him, despite the risk to their dishware from his spasming.

Tricia, hands engulfed in giant oven mitts sewn like baby chicks, carries out a glass dish with green bean casserole steaming inside from the kitchen. Tweek circles around the table, dropping silverware haphazardly on placemats, making no eye contact. Thomas has the plates in his hands and deposits one for each of them.

It’s chaotic for a few minutes, voices over each other as five people navigate the spaces around each other to get everything set out as fast as possible. When they do relax into their seats, with Tweek and Craig in the corner so nothing can sneak up on them, the din dissipates into a quiet meal.

Tweek manages a few bites of casserole, ignoring his not-coffee, sharing quiet glances with Craig. About halfway through, when it seems everyone is slowing down Thomas clears his throat loudly and obviously. Tricia, Craig and Tweek--with an aborted shout--pause and look up.

“Yes, _thank you_ Thomas.” Laura huffs, inwardly grateful he’s pushing it; she really doesn’t want to break the delicate relief Tweek must be feeling. “Tweek?”

His wide hazel eyes meet hers only to dart back to his food, pushed and poked and toyed with.

“Craig told you that your parents are cutting their trip early and will be home tomorrow, right?”

Tweek’s right eye twitches open and closed, right ear connecting to his shoulder. “No ma’am,” He glances at Craig, who shrugs, staring into the beans like they can somehow help.

“Well they are.” She’s none too pleased about it either. “Your dad wants you to open the shop in the morning as well. I guess they’ll be going right to it when they’re back in town.”

“Oh God,” Tweek sets down his fork and knife, grabbing his shirt in both hands, wringing it anxiously. “Do.. do they--oh Jesus--do they know about _today_?” That’s just what he needs, his parents who can’t fathom _anxiety_ having to deal with him being an  _Omega_.

“Yes, Tweek,” Thomas confirms when Laura suddenly gets up to fetch the coffee pot and a mug instead of answering. She decides he needs the comfort. “They got a call from the doctor’s office. And the school--who called all the parents in your class.”

“Meaning _everyone_ knows.” Tricia summates, stabbing at her food.

“Oh man! This is _waytoomuchpressure_ _!_ ” Tweek abandons the idea of eating any more, releasing his shirt to go for his hair, yanking harshly against the rapidly growing panic and humiliation within. His stomach rebels, clenching around his few bites. “Everyone’s going to be so mad at me! Or laughing! They’re going to laugh at me and beat me up! I’m going to _die!_ ”

“You won’t die honey,” Craig soothes quickly. “You just tell me if anyone laughs or tries to bully you and I’ll kick their ass. Or I’ll stand watch while you do.” He gets out of his chair to help free that tortured mane of wild hair.

“ _A_ _gh!_  I don’t want to beat anybody up!”

“You don’t have to. I’m just saying you could--you have a killer uppercut, babe.” Tweek croaks something that could’ve been his name if it weren’t so distorted, holding as still as he can while Craig removes his fingers and takes his hands for Tweek to focus on instead.

Thomas tries not to gawk, though he swells with pride. He’s aware of Tricia pretending to ignore them but for her little grin and Laura hovering in the doorway with a mug of steaming coffee.

Thomas' family has never been closer, and he’s never regretted encouraging Craig to be happy with Tweek less; it feels like he’s seeing his son blossom into a good man and an able pack leader right before his eyes. These revelatory moments have grown more frequent over the years, and he prays for them to continue.

Once Tweek is calm enough that Craig can have his own chair again--which he scoots closer to Tweek's--Thomas decides it’s safe to go on.

“Obviously you’ll stay here tonight. I’ll drive you to the shop in the morning.”

“ _Nng--agh…_  thank you, sir.” Tweek stares down at his plate, his fork stilling, stricken by a thousand thoughts. “Did… did my parents say anything to you about... _it_?”

Tweek’s looking down, so he does not see the look that passes from Thomas to Laura. Craig does, Tricia does, and nobody is smiling.

“Your dad seemed… excited.” Thomas eventually says.

Tweek’s body shivers, fork clanging and scraping the plate gratingly. “Oh man, what am I gunna _do_?”

“Eat some more Tweek,” Craig pushes carefully. “Worry about it later.”

“I-I don't think I can!” He holds up his hands, shaking too hard to hold utensils anymore. “I think I’m gunna be sick!”

Craig stands quickly, again, moving his chair out of the way and helping Tweek up. The rest of the Tuckers stare after them as Craig gets a hand on his lower back and pushes to get Tweek up the stairs fast enough. There’s a slam to the bathroom door and then silence.

“Great,” Thomas sighs, also getting up from the table. He doesn’t know how to deal with this and it’s _frustrating_. After these last few years of seeing his son so happy and Tweek relaxing more around them he’d been hoping for better. From whom… he’s not sure. Everyone, maybe.

He and Laura clear most of the dishes, leaving the boys’ plates in case they manage to eat more. His wife glances at him meaningfully when they crowd space around the sink.

“I really don’t want Tweek or you up at five tomorrow,” She sniffs, voice stiff. “It’s supposed to ice bad tonight and he’s in no condition--” Nails scrape the underside of the dish she clutches. “He’s been throwing up all day--”

“I know dear--”

“--How could his parents demand he go to work tomorrow, after such a difficult day and that medicine--”

“I don’t know--”

“I don’t like this!” She snaps, as if it were Thomas’ fault. “How can they think it’s safe for him?”

The tall man raises his hands as if to fend her off. “I don’t have those answers!”

Laura sets the dish down, glaring into the dirty sink. “It’s not right. He should be resting, not working.”

Thomas lays a hand on her back, sweeping it in soft circles to comfort her.

“Tweek will be okay, Laura. Betcha anything Craig’ll insist on going with us in the morning. Nothing bad will happen.”

\-------

Craig leans against the wall left of the bathroom door, locked out because Tweek can’t stand showing Craig his stress and his sick at the same time. But the brunette can hear Tweek coughing and hacking inside, muffled exclamations and imagine the way he must be shaking.

He raps his knuckles against the door, reminding Tweek he’s not alone.

“ _Jesus!”_

“Not Jesus at the door, just Craig. We can go visit him at the church later if you want though.”

Tweek makes some odd bouncing noises that pass for laughter and it allows Craig to smile, just a tiny bit. He hears the toilet flush and the water come on, time passing in clicks of a hall clock and the door opens, Tweek stepping out shyly, looking up and then away. There’s a pungent scent of aerosol air freshener hovering around him like he aimed the thing at his face and shot.

He makes some helpless gestures when Craig lifts an eyebrow at him. A snort, a shrug, and Tweek is in his arms, a kiss on his damp brow.

“Do you want to eat anything else? We should get you something to drink, too.”

Tweek’s eyes light up. He remembers the pot Laura made that needs drinking.

"Coffee?”

“Sure babe, if you want.” 

\-------

“Craig?” Laura catches the boys in the hallway, after coffee, after their cold food is discarded, when Craig is getting ready to lead Tweek back into the attic, popping her head out of the master bedroom. Tweek looks around nervously and then rushes into the bathroom with a barked, “ _I’m gunna brush my teeth!”._

Craig blinks at the door. “Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t normally allow this, but Tweek’s had a very hard day and I know you’re worried,” Not that Craig is alone in that. “I’ll allow him to sleep in your room tonight, but you have to promise me to leave your door open all night long.” 

He turns his steady gaze on her, unreadable but relaxing into something less stiff and restrained.

“Really?”

“Yes, dear. Thomas is going to be waking Tweek up around four thirty though, to take him to work.”

“Right. That’s fine. Tweek will probably be awake.”

Laura shakes her head, displeased that Craig is likely right about that. “Either way, we’ll try not to wake you up.” Craig shrugs--like he wouldn’t go help Tweek open the shop at five A.M..

She smiles knowingly at him, leaning out of the doorway to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re a good boy, Craig. Try to get some sleep, okay? Both of you.”

“Okay. Goodnight mom.”

“Goodnight sweetie.”

Tweek opens the bathroom door seconds after Laura closes hers. He looks nervous, still, but when he breathes out there’s a strong waft of mint and cinnamon and Craig snorts, taking Tweek’s hand to lead him the few feet down the hall back to his room.

“ _Nck--ahh--_ Craig the attic is that way!”

“You’re staying in my room tonight.”

“WHAT _?! But your parents--”_

“Mom said it was okay.” Craig cuts off Tweek’s alarm, pulling him until he’s inside the room, pivoting, and pushing Tweek onto the bed. He goes for the dresser, finding a large Red Racer tee shirt and old red flannel pants for himself with the light from the hall.

Tweek clicks on the bedside lamp. It's soft glow is warm, and by it he goes to Stripe's cage, dropping a few shreds of lettuce and carrot from a covered tupperware by the cage and into a small dish cradled by woodschips. Stripe  _woop woop_ s at him and circles around his hollow log, scampering for the dish.

The blond smiles a little before going back to the bed, sitting there while Craig changes. Craig joins him on the bed by nudging Tweek towards the wall and climbing in. They shift and shuffle and settle together. Tweek’s fingers laced with Craigs but still apart, for the fear that his frequent shaking and insomnia will disturb Craig.

Craig’s eyes are so very blue in the yellow light of the room. They’re focused on him, quiet and deep; Tweek loves him more than anything.


	4. The Morning of Ice. Something's Not Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning comes quick and cold, ice and snow beating the dawn. 
> 
> Tweek Bros. is open, but something's not right about it--and it's not just the lack of pastries.
> 
> Then someone comes to Tweek for advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super special important author’s note \\(º¬º)/
> 
> I re-wrote this note 5 or so times, and it sounded harsh despite my not wanting it to--as I'm not angry, just slightly discouraged--and the note was too long each time.
> 
> Instead I’ll keep it shorter: **Why u no read tags?!** x_X it worries me that there'll be people upset with me for what's labled and what strange things I may come up with as the story progresses.... eek! 
> 
> The themes of this story are coming into play **quickly**--and I don’t want anyone to be surprised when things suddenly go dark, because they will... and not JUST for Tweek.  
> I know these subjects can be upsetting, and I aim to write them with compassion to the characters and not to write painful things just for the sake of it. 
> 
> I’ve already written roughly 180+ pages (including what's posted) of sweet things and terrible things, mostly ideas and excerpts with the chapters coming to life around them. I'm in too deep to change too much, haha...
> 
> Anyways, **This chapter is the last one before things start turning “real” for everyone.** I split some of it away to make sure I properly warned before it started.  
> …  
> I’m sorry happy sexy times haven’t happened yet--the good, the bad, the loving is coming :D  
> …  
> ...  
> Additionally: I apologize but I fuckin’ LOVE gratuitous redneckspeak!Kenny, here's hoping I don't go overboard with it.
> 
> As always, thank you to all the lovelies who have so far encouraged me and liked the fic. May it continue to be enjoyable!

* * *

Tweek has been watching the stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars and planets fading above Craig’s bed for hours. It happens in pixilated minutes, engorged, pulsating chunks of decaying time. Of swirling dark shapes momentarily blinding him and then sweeping away like clouds of stardust. If he closes his eyes his whole body rocks on imagined waves, a stormy sea of painful cramps and nausea.

He slept for a while, Tweek thinks, based on the red letters of a digital clock on Craig’s desk. It’s three-fifty-three A.M., and he’d been staring for a while, surely. There’s a ringing in his ears from the silence barely touched by the soft breaths of his bed companion.

Craig’s been sleeping peacefully, and Tweek is relieved, glad one of them is resting well. Nausea has plagued the boy’s every twitch, threatening to tear him from the warm bed. He doesn’t want to bother Craig--that’s why he holds as still as possible, staring upward.

Maybe sleep will come back for him in this gloom. There’s still a little time before Craig’s father will be in to wake him up and the day promises to be as stressful as any--sleep would do him good, yet there he lays, shivering but not quite cold and focused on the plastic stars.

Outside the wind howls, ice clatters quietly against the windowpane like ghosts clicking morse code messages to him with their dead claws. A rustling tree plays host to ghouls and rabid bats, staring through the sliver of opened curtains at the young human wolves, just waiting to feast.

Tweek barely restrains his vocal tics, determined not to wake Craig up, determined not to wake Craig up; don’t wake Craig up, _don’t wake Craig up, don’t wake Craig up…_

A short series of pops of air come from the back of his sinuses, notes of strain. In his cage Stripe _woop_ s in alarm, before taking to the exercise wheel, going for a nice, noisy run.

_Don’t wake Craig up_

_Don’t wake Craig up_

The clattering of the wheel is too common a sound to disturb Craig, but Tweek’s raw senses hear it akin to the blare of a fire truck siren. The sleeping wolf barely stirs, only mumbling unintelligibly and shifting against his pillow.

 _'Oh God,'_ Tweek’s mind screeches. ' _I can’t do this. Have to do this! Hold still, hold still, don’t wake up Craig! God, I'm going to be sick again!'_

He’s fatigued by every tense muscle, every dark thought. Nausea rolls through his stomach, he swallows it back visciously. This isn't the first time sleeping besides Craig so why is it so _hard_ tonight?

Tweek grips his hair, drags his hands down his face and screams inside his head: ' _Enough!'_

Slowly and carefully he sits up. Craig shifts, exhaling into a snort and turning over, away from Tweek. His movements are watched carefully for any signs it’s over and he’s awake--but it’s not so, and Tweek shifts the curtains carefully, looks out the window.

In the halos of streetlamps Tweek can see snow and ice raining to Earth fast as falling stars.

Out there somewhere are rowdy adults, lured into lawns by beer and music, hurling snowballs at each other laced with shards of glass. They lean on each other, bloody but smiling and taunt the night freeze with reckless fingers. Surely--Tweek can see him in his mind as easily as he saw them when he was nine, chasing villains after bedtime.

Tweek wonders if he’s the only one sitting up tonight, watching the world outside like this--not a part of it, but behind glass holding vigil for the dark things. He breathes deeply through his nose, thinking it is probably not so.

In the numbing silence of a house asleep, Tweek can hear exactly when that changes. With sprung pale ears that twitch and swivel, when from the master bedroom comes the rustling of blankets and the very quiet grumblings of Craig’s father lumbering to the closet, slowly waking up.

Tweek shivers where he is for a moment before so slowly, so carefully, hand and kneeing his way over the expanse of bed.

_‘Why did I let him take the outside?!’_

Tweek’s feet hit the floor, cold air swirling around the carpet. He pads softly out the open door, which he closes carefully behind him, then heads towards the bathroom and the descended ladder up.

He doesn’t know if Craig’s father will wake him up by accident thinking Tweek is still in the room, so he intentionally steps hard onto the lowest rung, which creaks ominously loud in the still of morning.

That’s all the sound he will risk; the rest is getting up into the attic and changing as fast as can be, before anyone disturbs anyone, and getting out of the house.

His clothes are haphazardly placed, with some on the bed, others on the floor and for some reason only his socks making it into the dresser.

Precious seconds are wasted with the Omega uselessly spinning in circles, trying to force his brain to connect _shirt--why are there always buttons?!--pants--socks--boots--fuck laces!--_ into an assembled outfit of sorts. It takes years, it has to, and _no--_ the buttons don’t go like that! But there’s no time--years have already passed--so he descends with whatever he has on and a coat.

Thomas is just coming out of the bathroom when Tweek drops down the ladder and the nervous boy is startled right off of it. He crashes into the floor with a, “ _Jesus Christ!”_ Which somehow manages to be a whisper-shriek. His heart throbs painfully in his chest. He fights the urge to vomit.

Thomas still has a toothbrush in his mouth, and he blinks slowly at the human wolf half curled on the floor in front of him.

“...D’you need helpff upff?” He asks around the plastic.

Tweek shakes his head quickly and clambers to his feet. He glances towards Craig’s room, hoping he’s not awake, but he can’t see through the door.

“Craig’s making coffee downstairs.” Thomas supplies, guessing what this boy was worried about now.  Tweek’s eyes whip over to him and then he’s up and running down the stairs, his stomach in turmoil forgotten.

Sure enough, Craig is in the kitchen standing by their lone coffee pot. He’s pulled a pair of jeans over his sleep pants, and stuffed them in poorly, Red Racer’s famous car sticking out in wrinkles over the top of his waistband.

“ _Agh!_ Craig!”

The brunette turns around, sleep laden eyes half lidded under sleep ruffled black bangs. His chullo is shoved into the front pocket of his pants, yellow poofball sticking out.

“Hey, Tweek,” A big _yawn_ , and Craig’s pulling down two tall travel mugs with plastic lids and Tweek’s silver thermos.  

“You weren’t supposed to wake up!” Tweek rushes over, looking Craig up and down, hands hovering as if he expected waking up early to have visibly, physically harmed the black wolf. Craig’s sleepy expression faces off against Tweek’s distraught one.

“As if I would let you open a the shop alone, now...” Craig trails off.

“I’ve opened the shop alone a thousand times!”

“Well, yeah… but now you’re…” Craig’s eyes cant over to Tweek, then drop at the disbelieving look he’s getting.

“I’m _what?!_ ”

Craig shrugs helplessly.

He’d woken up to Tweek leaving the bed, bony knees and hands trying not to have weight as he crawled. He didn’t realize that he’d bumped Craig’s knee as he was climbing out.

Craig had waited to hear Tweek--who is never as quiet as he tries to be--scampering up the ladder to get out of bed.

Once dressed, the brunette had opened the door to find his dad just outside it, poised to knock.

“I don’t know.”

His dad had sufficiently infused a new worry into him.

 _“I’m glad you’re up, son. ...Look… I don’t want Tweek out there by himself--ah, neither does your mom_ _…_

_..._

_It’s just not safe for… for an Omega.”_

Tweek’s staring at him, the fight and incredulity plain on his face. He finally just scoffs, and looks away.

“Because I’m an Omega now, is that right?!” He grunts, coughs. “I-I’m not in _Heat_ anymore!”

“It’s not about that, babe--”

Tweek’s glare is _withering_.

“--Not just about that. Shit,” He rubs his eyes, annoyed at the light in the kitchen and his screechy boyfriend capable of choosing the worst times to hit the nail on the paranoid head. “Why are you upset, can you explain it?” He asks finally, watching the final drips of coffee hit the pot.

Thankfully he’s gotten pretty good at stopping Tweek in his tracks and de-railing him from his panic driven arguing.

“ _Ngh!_ I feel--! I don’t--” He's struggling, the words peanut butter cotton in his mouth.

Craig holds out a hand for Tweek to take if he chooses, and eyes him quietly.

“It’s okay to slow down, Tweek, I’m listening.”

Tweek grabs his hand, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. _Center. Center… Craig is my center._

“I’m scared. I’m scared _again! I'm always scared!_ When we came home from the clinic I thought it was just over, but--but then my parents--” He grabs for his hair, then his shirt, tugging. “Everything’s about to change, man! I just know it!”

Craig rubs Tweek’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb. His boyfriend’s tail is out, twisted partway over one leg, and his ears are poofed up in his frizzy hair.

“You must be worried about so many things,” Craig mumbles, half turning to finish filling the green-vined silver thermos for Tweek with his free hand. Craig’s insides twist--butterflies fluttering.

‘ _He said ‘home’... does he think of here as ‘home’?’_

“Y-yeah,” Hazel eyes still dart around as if trying to find tiny bugs scattering in every direction.

“Hey… _this--_ this won’t change,” Craig says softly, squeezing Tweek’s hand. “I’ll still be here. So you don’t have to worry about us, at least.” He flushes, chin tucked. "If you were worried about it."

Tweek scrounges up a small smile, and tightens his grip on Craig’s hand. “Thank you Craig. I don't want us to change, e-ever.”

Craig stops what he's doing, setting the pot down to turn and face Tweek fully. He slips a hand into fluffy blond hair and pulls Tweek to him for a kiss that Craig leans down and in to, keeping the short Omega close to him. His chapped and bitten lips as familiar as his eyes, moving in short twitching sweeps against Craig's own. 

Craig licks at the parted seam of Tweek's lips, suggesting and asking permission that Tweek opens to give. 

His whimpers are low in his throat, loud in the quiet morning.

A knock on the wall startles Tweek into breaking the kiss with a squeak.

“Boys? C’mon, time to go.” Thomas leans into the kitchen, eyebrow raised and his cell phone suspiciously still lit up in one hand.

Craig lets go of Tweek to finish filling the travel cups for himself and his father, his face is dusted a light red. Tweek's practically hiding behind his hands, whisper-grunting to himself about being seen. 

A hand takes Tweek's, prising it away from his face and leading him to the door behind Thomas. With coffee in hand they go out from the front door where the cold hits like hammers made of knives. 

None of them are dressed enough for this, and thankfully-- _thankfully--_ the car is already unlocked and the doors aren’t iced shut. Thomas turns the engine, the heat and the headlights on.

Tweek and Craig in the back seats huddle close. The car has taken the sub-Arctic temperatures from outside and made them Plutonian.

It’s a short drive to the Tweek Bros. coffee shop: a left turn off the driveway, towards the train tracks, then it will be left, then right past the movie theater. Tweek happens to glance out the window, and he only just sees it--a flash of orange, caught in the blinking light of the last streetlamp that dared get so close to the poor side of town.

It almost looks like---

“What’s up?” Craig whisper-asks, leaning close. Tweek didn’t realize he’d been straining to see what was out there, that glimpse of orange in the pre-dawn.

“I thought I-- _ngh--_ saw something!”

“Oh?” Craig twists to see if he can catch it.

The turn right is made, and whatever Tweek had seen is gone before Craig can catch sight.

By the time the car engine has warmed up enough to blow hot air they’ve parked and have to get out. The snow and ice fall lighter now, but no less draining to be under at five in the morning.

Tweek’s small ring of keys includes one to the main locks of the family coffee shop. He gets it on the fifth or sixth try, and he can muscle the glass doors open.

Thomas stands awkwardly in the entry while Tweek disables the alarm and turns on one of the lights. It glows far and wide in the icy night, a beacon for the drunk and the early riser alike.

“Do you need anything from me before I go, Tweek?”

Tweek shakes his head sharply. “N-no! Thanks for driving me! I’ll pick up my stuff later if th-that's okay?”

“No worries kiddo. Craig? You coming with me or staying here?”

“I’m staying.” Craig replies simply, pulling his chullo on. “I’ll catch a bus to school.”

Tweek scurries into the back room. More lights flicker on and a machine in the back starts to rumble loudly.

Thomas nods, rubs his neck. “If it gets busy...” He groans. “Just leave before his parents get here, okay?”

“Okay.”

“...Good. Alright. Uh… call if anything… happens.”

Tweek rushes out of the back room in a white apron, hair pushed back with a headband. His face tinted green and skin clammy, the stress and nausea driving him to move swiftly, jerkily. He pulls down two chairs and then sprints into the back room again.

_“Why are we out of raw sugar?!”_

Thomas leaves, not wanting to be a part of _that_ freakout, and his headlights in the snow, as he turns left past the theater, catch something orange again.

“Tweek, don’t worry about that sugar. Nobody uses it.” Craig pulls down the rest of the chairs, sitting them at angles in front of the tables.

“ _Jesus_ we don’t have any pastries either! What am I supposed to do?!” Tweek rushes back out of the employees only room, a hefty bag of beans in his arms for the front room machines.

“Tell them to fuck off.”

“ _AGH!_ ”

“Or just tell people you’re all out.”

Craig carries the empty metal canisters for milk and half-n-half into the back to fill. Tweek bursts in the back door with a broom. His eyes are frantic, bloodshot.

“Tweek, you gotta slow down.”

Tweek looks around, catches Craig’s eye and then skitters away quickly. “Craig--I--I can’t even tell what they were renovating! Nothing’s changed! Nothing’s changed at all!”

Craig looks around slowly, carefully. He’s spent so much time here he would think any changes worth closing the store down for a week to do would stand out--but Tweek’s right, not so much as a paint job has occurred.

“...Huh,” Is his smart reply. “Maybe it’s changed outside? It’s dark out, so we couldn’t tell.”

Tweek shakes, standing there looking around as if aliens were hiding in the corners behind the boxes of _stuff,_ clutching the broom to his chest. Craig carefully pries the broom from his hand and kisses his forehead.

“I’ll look for changes while you turn on the ‘Open’ sign, okay?”

Tweek nods, stops, and looks at the open door to the room they're in out into the main area of the shop. There’s someone in the lobby--there’s a shadow on the floor, ominously cast from the lights too-bright for the morning.

“S-shit! Someone just came in! They ignored the ‘Closed’ sign and just walked in! I don’t have any coffee ready for them, what do I do?!”

“Go see what they want? Or tell them you’re not open. Not your fault they didn’t pay attention.” Craig reasons, heading for the lobby himself. He hears Tweek mumbling anxious words to himself and prepares to offer the idiot making his boyfriend nervous a telling middle finger.

Except it’s… Kenny.

The golden blond wolf is standing at the counter, leaning against it casually, blowing on his hands and rubbing them. He’s got no gloves, but gold fur all over his hands, nails elongated, facing up harmlessly.

The orange of his old parka is held barely together with large patches of fabrics that don’t match at all and are crudely sewn with big, obvious stitches.  

He looks up when Craig, followed by Tweek, emerge from the storeroom. Kenny grins widely under his hood, too small to tighten over his mouth like he used to. Blue-purple splotches lay as heavy bags under his cornflower eyes, nearly as troubled as Tweek’s are.

“Kenny? What are you doing here?”

“Lights were on. Door unlocked.” Kenny shrugs lightly.

“Y-you shouldn’t be here! We aren’t open! _Nngh--I don’t have any coffee ready!”_

Kenny shrugs again, glancing at his furred hands. “No heat either?”

Tweek barks a stressed sound and disappears into the employee's only room again. A few moments later the vents in the ceiling _click-click-whirr_ \--with the ventilation turning on.

Craig goes behind the counter and powers on the computer and register. Kenny’s quiet posture undisturbed. Craig’s not sure why Kenny of all people wandered into Tweek Bros. at--five-twenty-three in the morning, but he looks… sick. Craig eyes him warily.

“Why are you here before we open?”

“D'you work here now?” Kenny asks instead of answering. “Didn’t think his parents would actually pay an employee.”

“Tweek works here.” Is the encompassing reply. Tweek is here, alone more often than not; so if he has to be here then Craig will be as well. But neither of them get paid to do so.

Kenny snorts softly, nodding. He gets it. And then Tweek is up front with them again, twitching back and forth to try and bring up the _order of operations_ in his mind for getting the shop open on time-- _already late_ \--with every nerve firing commands.

“What do you want?” He demands of Kenny, finally settling on taking a coffee order.

“...I was actually… hopin' to talk to you, Tweek. Alone.” He fishes into his parka and pulls out a small handful of quarters. ”Small black coffee? Room for cream?”

Craig ignores Kenny’s furry hand held out with change to pay for it and goes off to prepare the drink. He wonders if the Tweaks even _have_ any cream that’s not spoiled. Kenny pockets the change with a small smile and meets Tweek’s eyes, watches him do an impression of a confused squirrel for a few seconds and then head to a table in the corner.

Tweek slowly follows and they sit across from each other under a vent dropping clouds of warm air that hover just above their heads.

“W-what did you want to talk about?”

Kenny rubs the cold stains of melted snow and falling ice on his pants and slowly looks up at the other boy. “I wanted t'ask you about it--being an Omega.” He reads the budding panic on Tweek’s face and moves quick to stop him. “I mean--... When you were feeling sick… what did it…

Tweek stares at Kenny with eyes so wide he might as well have asked Tweek to swallow knives, or stop drinking coffee forever. “I don’t--remember well.” He grinds out. “I-I was dizzy, and my stomach and head hurt and--I couldn’t focus on anything--everything was so bright and it hurt--and the--Heat--” He cuts off, not wanting to share the sensation of something slippery dripping out of him, and everyone knew of the smell.

Kenny nods slowly, eyes trained on Tweek so intently the Omega worries Kenny wants to eat him alive.

“W-why...?”

A shrug, the quiet blond just looks away. “I haven’t been feelin’ well,” Is what he comes up with. “Had a headache since yesterday, small fever--I think, th’thermometer is broken--kinda wanna throw up.” He casts his eyes back to Tweek, toying with a drawstring from his parka’s hood. “I thought you’d end up in the hospital yesterday, but y'seem okay.”

Tweek fishes for words and memories, grunting out sounds until he does. “They--they gave me a shot, but I can’t remember much of yesterday, man. J-just that whatever they did--I--I’m not in Heat anymore.”

Kenny makes a thoughtful noise. “It hit me yesterday after y'left school.”

“ _WHAT_ did?”

“All this not feelin’ well stuff. Just don’t feel much like coincidence.”

Craig sets Kenny’s black coffee, Tweek’s thermos, and a metal pitcher of somehow-not-spoiled-creamer on the table. Then he fetches some sugar before taking the seat adjacent to Tweek’s, not at all concerned that Kenny asked to speak to the Omega specifically. He gets a _look_ for it from the golden-blond wolf that is easily ignored.

“So-- _what_ \--are you saying, Kenny?” Tweek demands, glancing between the main entrance and Kenny rapidly, worried customers might wander in and interrupt.

“I guess I’m wonderin' if I’m Presentin' or somethin’.” Kenny pours a long portion of cream into his coffee, then seven shakes of sugar before tilting the mug this way and that to try and mix it.

“As-as an Omega?”

“Yeah,” The coffee is bitter, the sugar lumping up at the bottom and the cream barely sweet on its own. He takes a good drink anyways, appreciating the warmth.

“ _Shit!_ Is it because of me?! I didn’t mean to turn you into an Omega!”

“Calm down Tweek. You can’t _turn_ someone into anything.” Not that he knows, of course. Craig touches Tweek’s shoulder softly, before adding more sugar to his own coffee. “Could you be an Alpha?”

Kenny pauses, but shakes his head. “I asked Kyle t'look up th'signs, n’Alphas Present real different than Omegas do.”

“H-how so?”

Kenny takes a drink. “Well… Lots o'Alphas don’t feel much at all, but Alphas higher up get real angry, then horny, break shit n’start fights--act real possessive--that kinda thing. But Omegas get sick with it when Presenting. For Omegas s’all about matin’, though. Not ‘bout sex for th’sake of sex, but sex t’get pregnant. S’a _need_.” He notes Tweek’s eyes widening to what should be their limits and then go beyond, then Craig’s mildly uncomfortable face and can’t help but laugh.

“ _PREGNANT?!_ I can’t get pregnant! _I’d be a terrible mom!_ ” Tweek cries, digging his fingers into his hair and yanking hard. 

“You wouldn't be a _mom_ , babe. Besides, you’re a boy; you can’t get pregnant.” Craig glances at Kenny, whose face holds a grin to match those suggestively tilted eyebrows. He fishes Tweek's fingers out of his hair.

“O’course he can. Why else would boys be able t’be Omegas?”

“ _Oh God!_ That is _way_ too much pressure! I can’t be a mom in high school-- _ngh--_ I’d end up on MTV! I'm too young for _16 And Pregnant!_ People will think I’m trailer trash!”  

“Nothin’ wrong with trailer trash.” Kenny mumbles, pouting. “I’m surprised you don’ know all this stuff already though--you two gots internet, don’cha?”

“We weren’t really thinking about it.” Craig lies, but Tweek looks away; he’d simply been to scared to look it up and deal with it.

“O’course,” Kenny agrees easily. “Anyways, I was jus’ curious. Gotta be careful on my side o’town.”

A chime comes from the front door to interrupt Kenny’s vague words, starting a curse out of Tweek, who shoots out of his chair to help the customer. It’s a man, tall and bundled up in heavy winter coats, a red scarf and thickly soled boots. There’s a brown paper bag shoved in one pocket, the open mouth of a bottle sticking out the top. Craig eyes him warily, but he seems mostly sober, just worn out.

“You two doin’ okay?” Kenny asks. “Must be a lot o’stress for him.”

“We’re okay. It’s been less than a full day.”

“Yeah.”

Something about Kenny’s nature coaxes some honesty from Craig. The poor boy has always been the sincerest of his crew, and the way he leans on his arm, the openly interested look to his eyes is entreating. It’s not too hard for Craig to believe Kenny might actually care about others.

“...I think he’s pretending to be okay. He was throwing up all day yesterday. Now his parents are coming back early.”

“That’s ominous.”

Kenny watches Tweek drop the customers change and then chase after the coins as they roll away. Craig doesn’t answer him, also watching his boyfriend go about his work.

A touch of light enters the building, the glass window wall open to the rising sun. Kenny finishes his coffee, slurping up the unmelted sugar at the bottom before standing up.

“I’m gonna head t’school. You comin’ Craig?”

“No. Why are you going?”

Two more customers come into the shop, bringing a frigid breeze in with them. Tweek shivers at the counter, biting his lip as they approach. Craig stands to go help.

Kenny grins, rubbing his hands as they become fur-covered again. “Nothin’ else t'do. But you have fun at work. Thanks Tweek! See ya later!”

“ _Agh!_ B-bye Kenny!”

For such a cold morning the sun is sure pretty, just barely over the horizon as it is. There’s a bus stop up the block by Token’s house, so Kenny heads there. He misses the constructed pole with the squeaky horn that would summon Fastpass or Sir Timmy's Travel Express for a “quick” ride, but a public bus would have to do.

Behind his glass station the security guard eyes Kenny warily, as if expecting trouble from him. He only grins toothily in reply.

After roughly ten minutes of waiting, so Kenny guesses, he hears a door open and close, and in quick order Token is coming up his drive in a thick purple coat, backpack slung over one shoulder. He looks surprised to see Kenny of all people outside his house.

“Kenny? What are you doing up here?”

The blond gives a little wave. “I couldn’t sleep so I got some coffee at Tweek’s shop." Kenny stretches lightly, scanning the road for the bus.

“I thought it was being renovated?”

“Don’t think so. Tweek n’Craig are workin’ this mornin’ and it didn’t look no different inside or out.”

“...Huh. Weird. Craig’s skipping then?”

“Looks like.”

“Ah. How’s Tweek holding up?”

“‘Bout as good as y'think he is.”

"Figures. Least Craig is there."

The blond pulls his thin coat tighter around himself. He notices Token glancing at him and flashes the black wolf a smie. "You're not takin' the school bus?” Kenny asks.

Token shakes his head. "I wanted to get there before first bell so I can talk to Mr. Emerson."

Kenny snickers. "Gotcha."

They stand in silence after that, though it’s not long before a public bus rumbles up to them, plumes of white billowing out the exhaust. Token enters first, pulling a card from his pocket.

“His fare too, please.” He tells the driver, motioning to Kenny waiting at the bottom behind him.

“Aw, thanks Token! You’re such a pal.” Kenny grins at him, surprised but definitely not complaining, bouncing up the steps.

“No problem man.”

Token takes a seat near the front and Kenny doesn’t hesitate to sit beside him. Even so, there’s little to say as they go, and Kenny sits with his disquiet stomach, contemplating. 


	5. She's Got News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek's parents come home with surprises and gifts. 
> 
> Kenny's family has news. 
> 
> Clyde isn't against getting high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> Happy Xmas, New Years, Yule, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Sosctice and every other reason to celebrate. 
> 
> I apologize for how slow it was to bring you this chapter; there's been a health crisis with my grandmother that we've had to urgently begin sorting, my sister came into town from across the USA, I've been dealing with sadness and all the rest of it.
> 
> In return, I give you a chapter. It's the best I've got for this bridge-point. I promised the darkness begins here, that is true..ish. 
> 
> I'm still playing around with Kenny's and his parents' accents, how I want to type it out, how I want to exaggerate it. I would think Kenny'd grow up with a combination of accent + mumbling + no accent, him being so used to being muffled. Outside of certain moments and personas he's such a quiet kid. Once I think I got it down I'll go back and edit all his dialogue to match better \o/
> 
> Thank you again for every comment and kudos. It is greatly appreciated! I think of them and I just have to start writing!

 

* * *

Token left Kenny’s side as soon as their feet hit the snow, though it wasn’t without a last, lingering turn of narrowed eyes at the golden blond wolf. Kenny’d let it slide with a small grin before his hood is drawn up, covering as much of his face as he can get it to.

Sunlight has reached the schoolyard, lighting the freshly fallen snow and ice into glittering jewels, sparkling where students have not yet trudged. Around him the air is bitter, viciously biting at what skin he doesn’t cover with fur.

He enters through the front doors, thankfully unlocked for students just like Token and he who have, for whatever reason, decided to show up at school before it technically opens.

Being South Park, there are any number of kids who just don’t want to be around whatever adult is supposedly taking care of them--as if the collective of parents who migrated to the small mountain town were simply looking for the most out of the way place to be as oddly fucked up as possible. Together.

Inside the heat is blasting through the rattling old vents, maintenances attempts to get the halls warm before the majority of students arrived. Kenny stands under one, closing his eyes and letting the hot air flow over his skin, his fur, and soak into his ever thinning layer of clothes.

There’s a little time to kill before everyone else would start filtering in, and Kenny enjoys the quiet while it lasts.

\-----

Cartman jogs up the hallway in his lumbering way, a grin fit to conspiracy dimpling his pudgy cheeks. His sneer only deepens as he gets within feet of Kenny, Kyle and Stan lingering at their cluster of lockers.

The three are fit to ignore Cartman and whatever offensive shit he plans to expel at them, but for his leaning into Kyle’s personal space, taking a large, obvious inhale of him.

“Well, well, well, _Kyle!_ Is that the distinctive scent of _Presentation_ I smell on you?”

The cut off conversation drifts through a few bars of silence before Kyle scoffs in his throat, folding his arms and leaning away from the large boy.

“What the hell are you talking about, fatass?”

Kenny presses closer to the lockers, tucking his chin beneath his hood’s collar to hide the discomfited frown on his face. He surreptitiously puts another inch or two between himself and Kyle.

“I went home last night and read all about Alphas and Omegas,” Cartman declares proudly. “One of the Omega signs is an obvious change in scent, and _hmm_ , and what’s this scent wafting in the air?” He sniffs twice. “Why, you certainly do smell _different_ today _, Kyle._ ”

Stan blinks, glancing at Kyle thoughtfully. He looks the redhead up and down before shoving his face into Kyle’s personal space and taking a sniff.

“What the fuck Stan?”

Kenny takes half a step back; no one notices.

Stan shrugs, looking away sheepishly. “I dunno! I was curious. But I don’t smell anything different from Kyle, Cartman.”

Cartman’s eyes narrow suspiciously, expression transforming into one of scandalized disappointment, concluding that Kyle somehow planned to foil his brilliant exposure of the surely-an-Omega boy.

“That’s because I’m not Presenting as anything!” Kyle snaps, grinding back on the instant agitation Cartman inspires.

“Hmm,” Cartman huffs, studying Kyle with accusatory eyes. “Won’t be long. There’s no way a ginger Jew like you won’t also be an Omega. And believe you me, I will be the first to know! This nose never lies!”

Cartman moves back to just outside Kyle’s bubble, miffed that his morning fun has been spoiled before it even got started, but as confident in his assumptions as he always is.

Kenny lurches another half-turn, his stomach twisting unpleasantly.

“Whatever Cartman. Maybe it’s _you_ that will be an Omega.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m going to be a Classic Alpha, it’s in my DRA.”

“You mean DNA?”

“In my “Damn Right I’m an Alpha”! I have what it takes. Unlike _some_ of us.”

“Your acronym is too short,” Stan informs him, counting off words and capital letters on a few fingers.

“Ugh, Whatever!” Cartman sighs back, impatient.

Kyle slams his locker’s door, two large textbooks pressed against his chest, three fingers beating agitatedly against one’s red cover.

“Like I want to be an Alpha either. It all sounds stupid.” Pale lips twist irately, and Kyle stalks off towards his first class, blowing by Kenny, who leans against the hard metal of the lockers to be out of the way.

Kyle looks back, confused by the scent he catches as he walks away, but doesn’t see anything alarming, and continues on.

Stan hums thoughtfully while Cartman finishes up retrieving his own books.

“I think I wouldn’t mind being an Alpha.” Stan declares as they cluster to head onward. “Be less boring than being a Beta at least.”

Cartman eyes Stan up and down. “If you were an Alpha I’d bet ten bucks you’d end up jacking it in San Diego again.”

Kenny chuckles into his parka, more for the scandalized look on Stan’s face than anything.

“Whatever dude. Still be better than being an Omega.”

Stan and Cartman walk on, unawares that Kenny falls back and trails behind them until he isn’t walking anymore at all but standing besides some unknown’s locker with none of his school supplies. He’s not given a moment’s time to think.

“Hey Kenny, what’cha doin’?”

Kenny startles, turns, and tucks his chin to see Clyde approaching slowly, like he’s not sure how close he’s allowed to get to the other boy. Every now and then Kenny has had an encounter with Clyde, who surprisingly took their days as superheros seriously enough to slip up and give “Mysterion” a differential look. It’s familiar enough to pick the nervously excited curiosity from the brunette’s gaze.

“...Nothin’ much,” Kenny replies, dashing Clyde’s minute hopes. “Don’ feel much like hurryin’ on t'class, yanno?”

“Yeah, I’m not in any rush to get to math.” Clyde smiles, and Kenny’s body gives a peculiar shudder when approached. Clyde’s not much taller than him, but his husky body crowds against Kenny’s own when he rests up against the locker besides Kenny.

They stand in awkward silence, both waiting expectantly for the other to find a reason to chat. Clyde sniffs loudly, trying to clear a stuffy nose. He does it again--and then looks over at Kenny perplexedly.

“Huh... why do you smell so good?”

\------

It’s barely nine A.M.; Tweek Bros. Coffee House is finally slowing down from the early dawn rush. Locals happily grousing to Tweek of their displeasure that they’d been without their coffee for several days.

He’s nearly sold out of the family Special Blend, the cloud of customers eager for it crowding the counter until Craig flipped them all off hard enough for them to back off.

Now but three customers remain, sitting together at a small table with their laptops out, murmuring to each other over this or that piece of information. Tweek is crouching beneath the counter, just below the register, curled up tight in a convenient cubby made for a bigger CPU than sits there. It’s overly hot, but his trembling legs won’t carry him into the backroom yet. Craig’s kneeling in front of him, hands around Tweek’s own, carefully keeping eye contact so Tweek can focus on him instead of the chaos ripping down his delicately threaded nerves.

“You’re okay, Tweek. You did a good job,” Craig praises softly. ‘ _Your parents are morons--you couldn’t do this all alone.’_

“Je-Jesus _Christ,_ Craig! How the hell am I supposed to do this alone?!”

That Tweek echoed his thought was really quite telling.

“You’re not alone, babe, I’m right here.”

“Right--right here,” When his breathing slows somewhat a gentle tug coaxes the Omega out from the cubby and onto his feet again.

A nervous sweep proves that the three with their laptops are still there, talking and chuckling to each other in a hush. No other table is occupied, Tweek notes, and only one car is parked outside th---

“Oh--shit!-- _God_ , Craig!”

“What?”

Tweek whirls around, eyes wide to match the empty pastry dishes and just as pale a white.

“It’s my _PARENTS!_ ” He snatches a handful of hair and yanks hard. “You’ve got to-to _HIDE!”_

“...Why?”

Tweek’s grunts loudly, unable to answer--he doesn’t even know. He plants both hands on Craig’s chest and pushes him until the brunette relents to allowing the smaller wolf to herd him all the way into the bathroom.

Richard Tweek opens the door to the family shop, his arms laden with grocery bags. He hips the door open, sliding inside with a faint smile. His shoulders and curly auburn hair are dusted with fresh snow.

“Tweek--son? Are you there?” Richard calls, voice as liltingly pleasant as an inquisitive note of music.

Tweek grips the bathroom door handle, as if that could stop Craig from opening it if he really wanted to, and scurries over to greet his father with a _thudthudthud_ in his chest fit to crack ribs.

“H-hi dad! You're here early! Did something happen?! Is mom okay?!”

Richard chuckles, side-stepping his wide-eyed pup as if he doesn’t see the chill of terror on his face.

“Nothing's wrong, Tweek. We made good time is all, so excited we were to come home and see you again.”

Tweek is quiet for a moment, waiting for his spinning, racing thoughts to slow enough for him to grab one. He can feel strands of hair snapping around his fingers.

“S-see me? A--ghh--oh GOD!-there’s nothing to see!”

“Of course there is.” His father sets the bags onto the meagre counter space and begins pulling out boxes of store bought pastries to put in the display. The little neon green stickers with their prices and expirations dates displayed catch Tweek’s eyes painfully. “I heard the good news, you know,” His voice is sly, eyes casting a sideways at him, that easy smile

Tweek flinches hard, stepping away from the glass display so the glass may be swung up, leaving the empty case to be filled. His very skin spasms, his mind tumbles. Craig is still in the bathroom. It’s difficult to swallow; a dry throat, no coffee in hand.

“Good… news?” He prompts carefully, when his father’s train of thought wanders into a soft whistle while layering croissants.

“Oh yes, yes. I heard that you’re--”

“ _JESUSCHRIST_ don’tsayitHERE!” Tweek hisses urgently. “ _It’s too much--”_

“--An _Omega_. And I think that’s just wonderful, son.” Richard’s voice, while never particularly loud, carries like a tune nobody wants playing--an old car commercial jingle, the initial notes of a creepy radio show; melodious but abrupt--disruptive. “Your mother is at the house beginning to prepare a special meal for dinner to celebrate.”

Three people staring at Tweek over their laptops, eyes judging him, swallowing him, tracking his body through blank-faced masks. The Omega looks away, embarrassed and twitching, his soft grunts going unnoticed by his father and himself; an alarm ringing somewhere that neither were equipped to quell.

Tweek’s eyes fish for Craig, momentarily forgetting he banished his boyfriend to the bathroom until he could sneak him out.

“And of course there’s the PTA meeting tomorrow night to attend. But anyways,” Richard continues serenely. “Thank you for opening the shop today--what with school being closed I’m sure you wanted to sleep in, yes? Lying under the covers, safe, sound, like a happy pea in a pod or a growing bean in its shell.”

“C-closed?” Tweek shivers, tight sounds lost behind his tongue. The school wasn’t closed-- _was it?!_

“Mhm, yes. Closed, thankfully, so you aren’t missing anything important.” The man’s face twists with pride. “I’m so pleased with how quickly you’re becoming accustomed to the bright and early mornings of a coffee shop owner--it will be so much easier when it’s time for you to take over.”

Craig tires of the stale and acrid air in the public bathroom and steps on out, walking past the employees only door, the three with their laptops half-staring at Tweek to his boyfriend’s side by the counter.

“Of course it can’t go to you directly,” The man adds absently.

“W-what?!” Tweek yelps, unable to make sense of that statement, looking between the two in a frantic confusion.

Richard doesn't answer, he has the pastry display case halfway closed, his gaze drifting serenely, before sweeping over and latching onto Craig and holding him there in his brown-eyed concern. A smile grows on the man’s tan-tinted face, and he sets the glass all the way down, collecting and consolidating the emptied grocery bags with a loud shuffling of plastics.

“Why if it isn’t Craig!” He belatedly cheers, ignoring his son’s question, that dripping indulgence pushed through the words as molasses, sticky and thick. “Ditching school for a cup of fine Tweak coffee, or…?” The man makes an obnoxiously obvious gesture towards Tweek, winking.

Craig’s brows fold in, Tweek’s eyes widen.

“Sch--school--” The Omega begins, falters; his father had just claimed the school was closed-- _right?_ Tweek looks to Craig for confirmation, but Craig had neither heard the original comment nor seems to catch the cause of Tweek’s distress.

No, he is staring at Tweek’s father in a way Tweek has seen a few times only, what with how they avoid his parents; he studies the older man, looking for information not being given; is it madness, or is it trickery? An answer never appeared before, nor landed somewhere benign such as simply being too free-floating a man at times to hold any truths still. Richard Tweak may not be the smartest, cleverest of men, but behind his haze is a shrewd mind, careless and manipulative.

“I’m helping Tweek with the shop.” Craig answers honestly, after taking his time to decide to do so. It’s not the first time he’s volunteered and the Tweak parents know this, but he senses something amiss, and he’s not disappointed, for the man’s expression darkens, a quiet storm turning rain on his son.

“Now Tweek, what have we told you? It’s not right to make young Tucker do your work for you, especially when we can’t pay him. This is going to be _your_ famile's business one day soon.”

Tweek cowers back, muscles gone tense and wolf ears out, folded, chastised, confused.

“You’ve never once said that!” He shrieks, eyes darting to Craig, to their audience, vulnerable and embarrassed. The mere suggestion that he could no longer permit Craig to help him might as well have been a carnival mallet, his nerves slammed into a skyrocket. Panic is the only prize, and every player is a grand winner. “I can’t do it all this alone!”

Richard makes a _shush_ ing noise and pats the top of his son’s head with that serene smile battering away at Tweek’s sanity. “Calm down, Tweek. You won’t have to do it alone for much longer, I’m quite sure, but Craig’s parents must be awfully sore that he humors you so, instead of attending to his studies.” His smile is placating. It feels insincere. He breezes past the boys to disappear into the back room.

Tweek makes a noise that frequently preludes a full on scream, but Craig stops it with a hand on Tweek’s cheek. Instead of full on screaming the blonds head jerks to reciprocate, cheek to palm assuring Craig he’s welcomed to touch him.  

“It’s okay, babe. Like I’d listen to him.”

Tweek’s jaw works, his ears twitch and tremble. He turns abruptly and shuffles into Craig’s space. The hand on his cheek moves to his hip, the other hand joining on opposite sides, drawing the tiny blond into him. Craig places a light kiss to Tweek’s forehead, listening to his breath stutter and hitch, ebb in panic and dip closer to normal.

“Tweek? Won’t you come help me with something?” Richard interrupts coolly from where he’s peeked from behind the employees only door. “Craig, kindly wait out there, if you would.”

Craig almost refuses, but as his boyfriend’s anxiety rises again he just sighs, backing off. Tweek glances at him before rushing over to join his father, eager to get this over with, whatever it is. Richard allows Tweek past him, but does not leave the door frame immediately.

“On second thought, you might as well head along back to school, Craig, I’m afraid I will need much of my son’s attention today.”

The door closes before Craig lifts his middle finger in answer.

\-----

“I haven’t skipped in so long,” Clyde murmurs, a bit of self-awe mixed with mischievous delight. To Kenny’s eyes, Clyde is obviously worried about getting in trouble, but the way he kicks his legs is energy, curiosity building.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout this,” Kenny mumbles back, pulling his threadbare parka closer to his body, not that it helped with the cold out behind the school, more a supplement to the fine layer of fur on his body. “Nice t’have the company anyways.”

Clyde peers at him, obviously lost behind his contemplative look, trying to figure out the most mysterious of his classmates yet again. It doesn’t go too well, so he simply asks instead:

“Why are we hanging out here instead of going to the nurse?”

Kenny runs a hand over his stomach, feeling the unsettled bubbles moving inside, promising sharp cramps. “I didn’ mean ta yak on your shoes,” Is what he comes up with. A puddle of filthy snow is not too far away, where Clyde’d cursed and hopped, desperately scraping the remains of Kenny’s empty stomach into the snow and off his new vans. 

“It’s okay,” Clyde reassures him. “I hate having math first thing anyways.” He nibbles at the corner of his bottom lip. “You feeling better?”

Kenny shrugs. “Mouth tastes like shitty Friday nights,” It’s not much of an answer, and Clyde’s too genuine to grasp onto vagueness--he won’t get it. “But no, not really. I’m fixin’ ta head on out.”

“Oh, uh… Okay.” Clyde stands up, shaking the legs of his cargo pants to rid himself of some clinging snow. He looks at the doors back into the warm school and waiting lessons, looks over to the blond. Something aching coils between his ribs, something he doesn’t understand. “What if I… went to your place too?”

“Why would ya want t’do that?” Kenny asks, giving away some of his surprise. He and Clyde aren’t close, and neither are their houses, comparatively. “It’s not even third period yet, you can still catch th’majority of th’day.”

“I guess. If you don’t want me to--”

“Nah, s’fine.” Kenny interrupts. “I was surprised is all; t’aint nuthin’ interestin’ ta do at home.”

Clyde’s smile is mixed with a heavy dose of giddy approval. A faint chill shudders pleasantly up Kenny’s spine to see it.

\------

They’re just passing the bright red house where some kid they played with years ago used to live, Clyde’s easy chatter making up the entirety of the conversation. Kenny was used to endless one-sided rants from Cartman or Kyle, coated in the selfish desire to be heard over others.  Clyde, he babbled awkwardly, filling the space with talk of food, football and how he worried over classes and friends and, of course, the current events.

“I dunno bout you,” The brunette interrupted his own thought on how weird some of the seniors have started acting. “But I’m hungry.”

“Y’won’t find nothin’ t’eat at my place,” Kenny points out, slowing down as they’re approaching Cartman’s house. “Couldn’t spare ya a poptart even.”

“Hmm,” Clyde looks quite disappointed for a moment, before an easy smile warms his face. “That’s fine. Let’s get you home safe first.”

There’s a sharp twist in Kenny’s gut, like a magnet tangled between his intestines, drawn to something and trying to force its way out through his skin. It hurts, shockingly cold through to the base of his spine. His wince is pronounced enough for Clyde to look alarmed, concerned, and to hover closer.

“Kenny?”

He loops a thick arm around Kenny’s shoulders, hoping to keep the golden blond wolf standing up and out of the snow when he wavers.

“W-we’re not far--can you make it?”

Kenny’s eyes close against the pain, so sudden it took the breath from him, knocked his knees down. When finally it recedes enough to leave weak trembles behind he nods the affirmative. Clyde heaves him up again, and they trudge together through the thick snow.

“Shouldn’ta bothered goin’ t’school,” Kenny mumbles, grunting with some effort.

The train tracks are within sight, not long or far now, and the streets still empty of anyone who would question the delinquents.

Remnants of Historic SoDoSoPa sit as the ribs of a massive carcass around the small house they’re approaching. Sprawling dreams broken in pieces. Garbage litters the snow and ice, turning it sickly blacks and browns from leaching dye and dirt. Beer bottles, a broken and overturned shopping cart, plastic bags and glass are strewn everywhere. A broken down red car sits on display in a brick circle like a monument to the failure of gentrification.

Kenny’s house, broken in more places than it’s repaired, cracked in the foundation, stands as the last stop before the forest. Planks of wood where a window was broken last year and couldn’t be repaired. A garage door which couldn’t be lowered anymore, displaying a cracked door hiding the off-again-on-again meth lab--currently on-again.

The murmuring voices of the tent city that moved in behind the house carries on the wind with a foul scent.

The front door is unlocked, having more to do with South Park and rarely a house being locked than there being nothing worth breaking into the McCormick household to steal.

Clyde expects it to be awkward, going into someone else's house without invitation when he should be in school, but he overestimates the McCormick parents’ investment in their son’s education.

“Kenny? That you?” Carol’s twangy voice calls from the kitchen. The door is barely closed behind them. Clyde goes stiff with nerves.

“Yeah, ma! Got a friend with me!” Kenny calls back, pulling himself from Clyde’s hold. “My room’s the one in that hall there,” He points to a hard angle at the end of the living room’s dingy wall, cracked wall haphazardly painted mud green. A neon “BEER” sign flickers blue light with a low buzz. “’S’got pretty girls on the door.”

Clyde nods and heads that way, noting the carpet with its ripping shag that looks more like animal fur than carpeting. Black bags full of garbage lean against the walls in inconvenient places. Everything smells of rot and dirt. He closes himself in Kenny’s room while the blond straightens and walks into the kitchen.

“Why aren’t’cha at school, boy?” Stuart grunts, sipping on a beer from where he leans against the counter.

Kenny shrugs. “Don’t feel right t’day.”

“Hmph.” Stuart lifts his beer for a deeper gulp.

Carol is at the table, looking troubled. Her lime green shirt has a gaping hole at one armpit, and small moth bites along the bottom hem. She’s got a cup of hot water in her hands. The cup says, _“Mom of the Year”_ , and a _dripdripdrip_ of water from a hairline crack in the bottom hits the already water ruined table rhythmically. A small object sits in front of her as well--it looks like a thermometer.

“Ma?” Kenny takes the chair to the right of her. “You okay? Whut’s goin’ on?”

Her rich blue eyes, so much like his own, flicker up to him. It’s the defeat in her features that prompts her youngest son to rest a comforting hand on her left arm. Her skin is cold, her voice dejected.

“Aw, Kenny, s’nuthin’ fer yew t’worry bout none.”

“Th’hell it is, woman.” Stuart growls. “Boy’s gunna hav’ta grow up n’help out.”

Kenny glances between them, then to the item he took for  a thermometer on the table, a heated dread growing behind his human ears. Two little display windows, pink lines.

“Ma… you aren’t--”

Carol gives a great sigh. “But I is--I’m pregnant again.” Her eyes thicken with tears that don't shed; a proud woman despite her circumstances. “I dunno whut we’re gunna do with another baby!”

“Damn right woman! We don’t got no room for another mouth!”

Carol stands up, whirling quickly on her husband. “This is jus’ as much yer fault as it is mine!” She snaps. “Don’t yew think I’m gunna be blamed y’hear? Yer the one who forgot t’buy condoms again!”

“We don’t have money for condoms!”

“Then go to the clinic! They’re givin’ ‘em away!”  

“Why don’t you go? I’m not walkin’ into no women’s center!”

“Yer jus’ being irresponsible again!”

Kenny gets up, knowing there’ll be no logical discussion of what to do about this until they’ve yelled themselves out. He goes to join Clyde in his room, happy he’s got some weed left from the last time he dared sneak some from his folks.

The brunette is standing in the middle of his room still, looking unsure where to sit. He clearly also heard the yelling in the kitchen.

“Uh,”

Kenny shakes his head, kneels by the bed and fishes a small bag from under the bottom mattress. Inside is a glass pipe, a lighter with the Playboy bunny logo and an orange prescription bottle. He sits heavily on the floor, leaning against his old bed, motioning for Clyde to sit next to him.

“I hope y’smoke, Clyde; t’day’s gunna need it.”

\------

Craig had reluctantly left Tweek Bros. as requested, but he texted Tweek frequently to check in on him. Replies had been sporadic and worrisome; ignoring most of his own texts as sometimes happened when Tweek couldn’t stand the pressure of a full day alone with his father.

**_FROM: Tweek; 1:38P.M:_ **

**_TO: Craig; Read 1:39P.M:_ **

_My dads gone nuts man! He keeps talking about giving me taking over the coffee shop_

**_FROM: Tweek; 3:11P.M:_ **

**_TO: Craig; Read 3:15P.M:_ **

_Hes called me an Omega 26 times already! WHY DOES HE CARE SO MUCH?!?!?_

**_FROM: Tweek; 5:47P.M:_ **

**_TO: Craig; Read 5:51P.M:_ **

_Dads sending me home for dinner mom making something special_

**_FROM: Tweek; 5:48P.M:_ **

**_TO: Craig; Read 5:51P.M:_ **

_Dad invited a family friend for dinner from denver i didnt know we had family friends outside southpark!!_

**_FROM: Tweek; 6:00P.M:_ **

**_TO: Craig; Read 6:03P.M:_ **

_Dads closingg the shop craig im scared what the fuck is going on?!_

Craig had tried in vain to be reassuring, asking if Tweek wanted him to come to dinner as well, but apparently his dad said no to the idea. Uncharacteristically antsy, Craig busies himself with his old VHS tapes of _Red Racer_ and building small structures for Stripe the 7th in his room, waiting for every chime of his phone.

**_FROM: Craig; 6:05P.M:_ **

**_TO: Tweek; Read 6:07P.M_**

_Hang in there babe. Want me to come over tonight_

**_FROM: Tweek; 6:10P.M:_ **

**_TO: Craig; Read 6:11P.M:_ **

_YESS_

Tweek walks home, alone, as the sun sets around him. People shuffling about, some with groceries, some with their kids, everyone ignoring the short blond hurrying towards his house. His mother is waiting for him, so he can’t dawdle or stop at Craig’s house for a reassuring hug. His steps falter, tics made worse by the multitude of thoughts in his head, each clamoring to be worse and more dire than the other, too loud to be easily picked apart.

Up ahead the dark brown house fits in well with its neighbors, unassuming with bright lights in the windows, invitingly warm in appearance. Tweek knows the cold inside is worse than outside, where nests of Gnomes and shadows lurk with glinting teeth waiting to feast on his delicate skin.

He goes in through the front door, bracing himself for his mother’s melodious voice.

“Tweek, honey?"

“H-Hi mom!”  

Susan Tweak breezes out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron, a soft brown with little orange steaming coffee cups on it. She smiles easily at her son, her gaze somewhere over his shoulder.

“Welcome home pumpkin. I missed you.” She opens one arm to the side, and Tweek obeys to move into her, receiving a soft hug.

“Missed you too,” He replies as expected. Her approving kiss on his head is familiar.

“I’m making something very special for dinner, darling, all of your favorites too. Why don’t you go on upstairs and wash up? Put on something nice, too.”

Tweek’s shivers take over, and he glances around. “I-is your--your friend here already?” He asks, sure that’s the only reason he has to dress nice for a Wednesday dinner.

“Not quite yet, but he should be soon, and you’ll want to make a good impression. Perhaps we can put your hair into a ponytail?”

“What? Why?!”

She chuckles. “It will look quite cute on you, I think. Hurry along now, Tweek, I need your help in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

He nods sharply, turning to dart up the stairs, already pulling out his phone to text Craig again. In his room the boy finds himself spinning in circles, having a screaming debate with himself as to what counts as nice enough.

Eventually he settles on a black long sleeved cotton shirt, the only one he has which has no buttons, and a pair of dark jeans. That done he goes for a hot shower, scrubbing himself up and down until everywhere is red from heat and friction, lathering his hair twice in shampoo and conditioner.

He’s not in for long, but when he leaves the steam-fogged bathroom wrapped in a towel he can hear a voice at the door he doesn’t find familiar.

“Greetings, Richard, Susan. I’m so pleased you called me.”

“We’re happy you could visit on such short notice.” Richard’s voice carries quietly. “We thought it prudent to move quickly on this. Tweek will be delighted to meet you.”

“Ah, yes, your Omega son? I’m looking forward to getting to know him.”

Tweek’s spine straightens, tightens, and he sprints into his room to dry off any get dressed. He’s got a terrible feeling about this--paranoia strangles logical thought.

He fires off another text to Craig, not even reading the one his boyfriend sent to him first, typing quickly while barely looking.

**_FROM: Tweek; 6:58P.M:_ **

**_TO: Craig; Read 7:03P.M:_ **

_My pare nts friend knows im  nomega y would they tell him that?! What if theyre going to send me tio some omega boarding shcool or something?!_

He throws his phone onto the bed and changes quickly, the water dripping from his hair soaking the collar of the black shirt. The thick of it is pulled behind his head, trying to gather enough of the uneven layers together for a short ponytail.  

“Tweek, honey?” His mother calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Please come downstairs and help me in the kitchen and greet our guest.”

“O-Okay mom!” He yells back. A pause has to be made at the door, a shaking hand on the knob, eyes closed and forehead against the wood. “Y-you’ll be okay, think happy thoughts… kissing Craig… puppies… S-Stripe eating lettuce…”

The guest, as he were, is a very tall man in a brown business suit. His black hair is cut neatly and styled flat, plain and non-threatening. A shade of stubble darkens his skin. His eyes are sharper than both Tweeks’ parents, keenly aware and calculating. When locked onto Tweek’s own it is as if he were dismantling an argument the blond hasn’t even made yet.

His smile, when Tweek forces himself to shake the man’s hand, is wide and toothy. Still holding Tweek’s hand tightly, he leans in and takes a great whiff in the crook of the boy’s neck.

“Jesus Christ!” Tweek jerks back, unable to free his hand, disgust and fear sweeping down his back. “Let go!”

“Now, Tweek,” His father admonishes sternly. “None of that.”

The stranger laughs, deep and hearty, standing straight again. “It’s alright Richard. It’s probably the first time he’s met an adult Alpha--of course he won’t know proper greetings.” He turns those eyes back on Tweek. “I apologize for startling you, Omega. My name is Carter Jones; I’ve known your folks since college.”

 _‘D-don’t call me that.’_ He wants to say, “My n-name is Tweek.” Is what comes out instead, fearful of his father’s reproach. Tweek eyes him suspiciously--his parents have never once mentioned him, nor do they talk about friends in general.

Carter still has his hand, and when he tugs to free himself the Alpha lifts their hands, kisses the back of Tweek’s, and only then lets go. The boy retracts his hand to himself protectively. Carter looks amused.

“Tweek darling, the kitchen?” Susan calls, no hint of impatience in her sonorous voice. All-too-happy to retreat, Tweek scampers off into the kitchen, leaving Carter and his father to talk quietly to each other.

Dinner that night is a veritable feast. Potatoes with ample amounts of butter, lean steak and biscuits. Carrots, peas, corn, sauteed apples with cinnamon. None of which are even close to Tweek's favorites. Wine glasses with coffee mugs aside them, both full, sit in front of each place setting, including Tweek’s, and the bottle remains sitting in a bucket of ice to keep chilled. All on the fine china that Susan kept behind glass.

Carter’s chair is set beside Tweeks, with his parents both opposite them. Richard’s face holds a constant smile, amused and indulgent, the way he smiles at customers.

Tweek’s hands are too unsteady for him to hold his fork and knife without grating the delicate plate beneath more food than he can or will eat. Instead he nibbles on a buttered biscuit and gulps coffee. Carter keeps looking at him, Tweek can feel it, the weight pushing him harder into his chair. He longs for his phone, the link to Craig and his only stability, but dares not contemplate running upstairs to fetch it. The strained noises bubbling in his throat seem to amuse the Alpha sitting beside him, and Tweek can’t figure out why.

Halfway through a meal of nothing but small talk--

“How was the drive, Carter?”

“Oh, quite easy, I assure you.”

“Is the shop doing well?”

“Better than ever!”

“Tweek’s grown so much since I last saw him,”

“He’s really coming into his own. We’re so proud of him.” --and lies Susan begins collecting plates. Tweek’s meal has gone untouched, aside the biscuit, yet his mother makes no sign she notices, whisking it away from him.

“We have a gift for you, son.” Richard says, pulling Tweek from his racing thoughts, just itching for dinner to be over so he can go back to his room and call Craig.

“W-WHAT?”

Susan comes back from the kitchen with a small brown package under her arm, a coffee pot in one hand and a chocolate cake in the other. She places the package in front of him and returns to the kitchen for new plates.

“What is it?” He asks cautiously, knowing there's no good reason for a surprise gift.

“Go ahead and open it.” Richard encourages as Susan returns with a large knife and four plates. Tweek's jittering hands fidget with the glued edges while cake is dished out.

By the time his mother is sitting again he’s ripped into it, pulling a thick fabric from within. Unfolding it reveals a long apron with a front and a back that ties around the neck and clasps in the back. There's a panel that would fall over his hips and rear down his legs, a split on both sides for movement, but it would cover his chest and front down to the floor in front as well.

On the peach fabric is an embroidered symbol in green on the chest and on the back panel, where it would rest on his rump.

He doesn’t know what to make of it--and he’s never seen that symbol before.

“Go on, son, try it on!” Richard urges, beaming. Tweek stands to the side of his chair and slips the thick pre-tied neckband over his head, smoothing the fabric over himself. He reaches behind himself to do up the clasp in back. It fits incredibly well without any adjusting, and when he’s wearing shoes it should just be short enough not to trip on.

“It’s perfect!” His mother gasps with a delighted smile.

“Yes, yes this will work nicely.” Her husband agrees.

Carter’s eyes sweep the boy up and down. “Excellent choice, Richard. You’re going to have him wear that at the shop?”

“Why yes,” Richard assures, sipping his coffee. “It will be perfect advertising.”

Carter cocks an eyebrow at him, and Tweek watches his father tilt his head in a shallow nod to him. “Until our arrangement comes to fruition, of course. You may decide you want him to wear it as well, in time. If it all works out.”

“I’ll consider it. Assuming the shop doesn’t supply the kind of revenue I’m expecting, it might be necessary.”

“Of course. There’s nothing wrong with supplementary income, however.”

“As you say. Until it is official, of course, you’re free to do with him as you like, since he’s your Omega.”

Tweek’s sure his heart will burst--there’s so much to unpack from this conversation, but his mind can’t process it. It’s not unusual for his parents to talk as if he weren’t there--even to his face--but _this--the pressure of it._

“ _Jesus!_ What are you talking about?!” He demands, unable to take it. “What’s going _on?!”_

“You’ve not told him?” Carter asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We were going to tell him tonight, and thankfully he can meet you at the same time.”

“ _Tell me WHAT?!”_

“Tweek, son, calm down. It’s very simple, we have arranged for Carter to become your mate, should he decide he likes you.”


	6. Even When He Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek trembles against plans and secrets. 
> 
> Clyde wakes from a nap. 
> 
> Kenny just wants to sleep off his stomach.
> 
> Craig is beautiful in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you to everyone who commented and kudos'd the last chapter! I sincerely appreciate every word and click given. You drive me, make me giggle in joy and other happy responses!
> 
> That being said, this may be more of a "Two-parter" chapter, with many things left for the PTA meeting and some key events ;3
> 
> ***SPECIAL NOTE***
> 
> There are a couple uncomfortable scenes in this chapter, though I'd say "very mild" for this fic.
> 
> As well as a reference to my favorite Clyde x Kenny fic: 
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6516351/1/Liebe-Und-Krankheit
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter n_n

* * *

 

Dinner is over.

And Carter won’t leave.

He won’t leave

He won’t leave

He won’t leave

He won’t leave

 _Hewon’t_ **_leave_ **

Eight P.M., nine, nine-thirty; still at the dinner table, dessert gone, wine bottle empty, a second bottle half-gone. A hand heavy and unmoving on his inner thigh. Creeping higher, skimming down, nails when he trembles digging into his jeans under the apron.

“P-please can I be excused?”

A panic attack carefully ignored, coffee plied endlessly--” _Whyever for? This is a delightful. Now be quiet, son, we’re talking.”-_ -Pleasant conversations about nothing. That uncomfortably large hand squeezes his thigh, shifting, sliding, threatening to touch him between his legs. It burns. Strained noises grow louder.

“B-but I--”

 **“Silence, Omega.”** An order he can’t disobey. Voice blocked, as if by magic, a rubber band around his throat, choking, panting, sweating. **_“Be good.”_**

“I apologize for him.” All too sincere, flashes of disappointmented eyes on him.

“Be obedient. Relax. He’s our guest.”

Craig--Craig can fix this--

Laughing, the man is _laughing_ at him _._ “It is no trouble, they’re all like this at first. He will just need to be trained.”

Relieved chuckles--Plans--words--Only swirls of noise under an ocean of panic.

Ten P.M.; “Are you sure we can’t offer you a bed?”

“...No. ...No, I must be going. I’ll return at another time. You said he’s had his First Heat already, correct?”

“Yes, though regrettably we weren’t here to handle it properly; he should be due for another soon.” Placating voices dripping arsenic honey. 

“Call me when it comes on, and I’ll try him out. Oh, that reminds me--has he fully shifted yet?”

Heats? Trying him out? Shifting? Understanding fails--focus on breath-- **don’t cry in front of them.**

“Not yet, but we’ll teach him before you make the trip here again, if he's able to do it. Of course, we’ll also be in touch as soon as the Heat starts. Tweek, aren’t you going to say goodbye to our guest?”

Anything to make him leave. Stand, offer hand, don’t vomit.

“G-good--”

“Not like that.” A firm grip in his hair, yanking his head, bearing his neck. It hurts. His face flushes, his sight pinholes. It’s a sharp correction. “Like this. Good Omega. Don’t make eye contact.”

The door closes. There’s no food to throw up, but plenty of coffee; finding the powder room...

Mother and Father discussing in excited whispers together. He’s on the sofa, curling up, can’t handle the stairs yet. A world whirling by like asteroids hurtling through space, every thought and feeling too fast and brutal to do more than crash into him and speed away after breaking shards from his body.

A soft hand on his shoulder, disturbing the fog.

“Now pumpkin, don’t fret so much,” His mother sits besides him, attempting to halt his rocking with fingers like clamps digging into shoulder and knee. “We know this is a lot to handle for an Omega, that’s why we’re taking care of it for you; so you don’t have to worry about a thing! And on Friday we’ll be taking you to the clinic and we’ll have this Heat business all sorted out. You'll see, it's going to be alright.”

“Yes,” His father sits on the other side of him, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands. The aroma is thick and familiar, a special family blend brewed with cinnamon. “When we got the call from that doctor that she’d forcibly stopped your first Heat, well, we were quite concerned; we wish to support your _natural_ instincts.”

Tweek’s eyes are wet, face ruddy with tears that won’t stop falling, even though he tries. He doesn’t know what any of this means, or what to do. Why are stairs so hard?

“I want Craig,” He croaks, the first thing he’s been able to say clearly in hours. “I can’t be that guy’s--I have a--I have a Craig!”

There’s a pause, he sees them looking at each other, communicating, deciding without him. He twitches, fights a scream of frustration and cornered fear. His body wants him to move, release the kinetic build up, but he’s trapped.

“Yes, that’s right, about Craig…”

\------

**_To: Tweek; 9:34P.M._ **

**_From: Craig; Read 10:41P.M.:_ **

_Tweek text or call me back Do you still want me to come over?_

 

**_To: Craig; 10:42P.M._ **

**_From: Tweek; Read 10:45P.M.:_ **

_Cmethru window craig need u_

 

Craig only lives down the street; it will take no time to get to Tweek’s house. He stuffs his feet into thick socks and boots, pulling jeans over his night pants. He’s got a coat, his backpack, a fluffy purple blanket which he stuffs inside the bag, and is down the stairs in heavy steps.

“Craig? Where are you going?” Laura pokes her head out of the kitchen, a cup of tea steaming in her hand.

“Tweek’s. Something’s wrong.” He says flatly. Her face creases in concern, and she nods.

“If he needs to stay here tonight bring him over. Wake your father and I if we’re asleep when you come back and you need us.”

“‘Okay. Thanks mom.”

“Of course.”

It’s frigid outside, pitch black but for the sparse streetlights that came with the new bus routes. He crosses the empty road, walking swiftly down the sidewalk to his boyfriend’s house. It’s been hell, being so close and not knowing what’s been happening inside; all he knows for sure is there was an extra car parked out front for hours and that it’s gone now.

He crosses around to the side of the house, finding Mrs. Tweak’s wooden lattice for some viney weed she never bothered planting resting against the wall as always. He scales up it with practiced ease.

Thankfully his Tweek’s room has a window on the side of the house, and it’s opened for Craig and the wind, who clambors inside with his bag, navigating his long limbs through the small opening. His doing so is hidden by a large and sprawling tree planted when they were twelve, with great branches that scrape at Tweek’s window and walls at night like the creaking nails of giants.

“ _Craig_ _!_ ” The blond tackles him once he’s barely inside, knocking them both to the bed directly beneath the window, Craig’s back hitting the wall. His low grunt at the impact makes Tweek hug him tighter, burying his nose under Craig’s chin.

“What happened?” The brunette asks, when Tweek’s breaths hitch into rasping sobs. “What did they do to you?” He places his hands on Tweek’s thin back, rubbing under one shoulder blade and the other along his pronounced spine.

Tweek shakes his head in jerks and stinging muscles, moving against Craig until the taller shifts, allowing Tweek to climb into his lap.

“Babe?” Craig prompts. “Breathe with me.” He hugs Tweek to him tighter, chest to chest, and begins to take deep, measured breaths counted in _1..2.…3…...4….....5…...…_ With each breath in and out longer than the last. By ten Tweek’s shuddering is all that remains, punctuated with a few sharp sniffles.

“Better?”

Tweek nods, sitting back so he can stare at Craig’s chin. His eyes are bright red, face splotchy where he’s not panic-pale and his hair is slipping from a sloppy ponytail. Craig works the rubberband from the soft blond tangles, careful of pulling on already fragile strands and breaking them, brushing both hands through the kinks and knots once done.

Craig then presses his coat’s sleeve against Tweek’s face and rubs off tears and snot until Tweek sniffles and pushes it away.

“There. Want to tell me what happened?”

\------

At twelve-o-five P.M. Clyde is lying with his head on the dirtiest bed he’s ever been on--and he’s slept on dirt--with the now-and-then Mysterion lying next to him, watching smoke drift and swirl up to the filthy ceiling above them.

“That stain looks like a hamburger,” Clyde declares with a lazy blink, pointing a weak hand and crooked finger towards a brown spot above them. He groans. “I want a hamburger.”

Kenny snaps the lighter until the small flame flickers up, releasing it. He sighs, taking a hit from the pipe. “Gots no hamburger, buns; ketchup, mustard. No pickles. No money fer it neither.”

“I’d buy you a hamburger,” Clyde replies quickly, wiggling against the fourteen year old sheets. They might’ve been all blue, once, but whether that blue was also yellow, red, green, white, brown and black from the start was less likely

“Thanks, Clyde, but it’d probably jus’ end up on yer shoes too.” Kenny passes the pipe and lighter. 

“That would suck,” Clyde hums, feeling his heavy eyes trying to close after a deep pull of smoke, coughing it out. “Then I’d hafta get new shoes--they can’t survive being thrown up on two times in one day.”

“Sorry,” Kenny mumbles after a quiet moment, turning over onto his side facing the brown wolf. His hood falls away, spilling shaggy gold hair over cornflower eyes and freckled cheeks. Two long and tapered ears shift within the strands. “Can’t buy ya new shoes either.”

Clyde flushes, which happens all-too-easily, and looks away. His heartbeat spikes. “No worries, I can get ‘em for free if I want.”

“Oh yeh?” Kenny asks, his lazy voice rising curiously. “It’s cuz yer dad owns th’shoe store, that right?”

“Mhm,” Clyde wiggles his toes inside his mostly-cleaned off vans. Despite there being no heating in the McCormick house his body feels overly warm, toes sweltering and swimming in his sweat damp socks. He wants to take them and his coat off, but it’s hard to move, everything laden under a hundred pounds of comforting numbness.

“I’d blow Howard Stern again fer new shoes,” Kenny declares with a wistful giggle.

Clyde vaguely remembers hearing about that, Kenny spent three months in jail back when he was only eight. His shoes cost more than the ten dollars Kenny’d sold himself off for. It sparks a thought, and it sounds excellent amidst the giggling smoke.

“Don’t give Howard Stern a b-j,” Clyde advises. “S’my dad that owns the shoe store--you should blow him.” To Clyde it’s very logical when everything’s floating the way it is. “Actually, you don’t even have to blow my dad--I’d get you free shoes for a b-j.”

Kenny laughs, rolling onto his back. He looks for the stain Clyde spoke of, but there are many to choose from.

“Sounds fair. When yer not high as balls I’ll blow ya well nuff fer two pairs o’shoes.”

Clyde watches a shadow turn the hamburger into a splatter of brown and black shades and snickers. Morphing shapes are all the rage.

“Okay.”

Time stretches. Kenny takes back the pipe and smoke fills his lungs in pleasant, sleepy clouds. 

Clyde thinks muddy thoughts, pleased about their arrangement, and consciousness becomes a fickle thing.

\------

Clyde knows he’s not high anymore when he wakes up, eyes opening for the first time in a few hours. There’s orange light discoloring the already ruined ceiling, and the temperature has dropped with the retreating sun. His mouth tastes funny and there’s a crick in his neck that comes from being too asleep to move for stiff muscles. There’s a car horn beeping somewhere in the distance, and close by are soft voices. It takes a moment for him to sit up, only to see Kenny and his little sister with flashlights aimed at a binder and notebook, papers spread out around them.

“...Then you insert A and B into the equation,” Kenny continues quietly. “Once y'have that y'can start solvin' the pieces.”

He glances up, catching Clyde’s eyes, the popped up fluffy brown ears raised in a mop of brown curls, and offers a wan smile. He looks exhausted, and flushed with fever, too sick to be teaching algebra by flashlight. Kenny looks away, back to the paper at hand and makes a mark with their shared pen.

“See? All…--all it takes is this,” Kenny’s voice wavers, a signal slipping in and out of focus. “Y'got it.” He ruffles Karen’s hair until she giggles, smacking at his hands and pushing away.

“Kenny!” She squeals when he starts laughing too, wiggling his fingers like he might start tickling her at any moment. “I get it, I get it!” He sits back, breathing heavily through his nose, but smiling easily.

“Good job kiddo. Think ya could finish up in Kevin’s room?”

Kenny’s eyes dart up to Clyde’s again, but the brunette simply shrugs back, yawning broadly. Karen whirls around to see him, and smiles brightly, her own wolf ears flicking up, tipped in white and sandy brown to base.

“Okay Kenny!” She gathers the strewn papers, her own flashlight and departs the room. As soon as the door closes behind her Kenny drops to the floor, lying flat on his stomach.

Clyde slides off the bed, feeling awkwardly like he should be making his own exit.

“Uh, Kenny? You… alright?”

“This carpet smells like shit,”

“Maybe get your nose out of it?” Clyde squats beside him, too unsure of his right to touch the blond to lay even a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I’m not taking up the bed anymore.”

Kenny turns his head, feverish blues blearily finding Clyde’s concerned gaze. “Help a bro up?”

“Sure.”

Kenny’s hand fits nicely in Clyde’s own. They’re not much different in height but Clyde has pounds on Kenny, and the golden wolf’s fingers are long and as slender as he is, and with Clyde’s thicker fingers twined with them he feels almost as if he were safeguarding Kenny.

He’s holding the poor wolf’s hand much longer than needed to help him up, without doing so, and Kenny’s eyes go wide, staring up at him over cheeks tinting rose.

Clyde coughs, stands and tugs. Kenny gets his other hand and knees under him and Clyde more or less drags him to the bed on the tips of toes that never quite get their weight under them.

“Oof,” Face-first in the old sheets, Kenny wriggles until he’s fully on the mattress. Now he’s up there, Kenny doesn’t want to move; an ache throbs at the base of his spine, spreading down through his hips in buzzing electricity. Fire rings his eyes in fever. He can hear his parents screaming in the back of his head, echoing in the way only a migraine can.

Clyde’s still holding his hand, staring at him with a growing intensity completely alien to the friendly brunette. The longer he meets Kenny’s distant gaze the less he recognizes he boy as one of his more aloof friends or someone he has admired and looked up to; instead Kenny seems to transform, the bony articulations of his wrists and shoulder blades pop out delicately, his spine extends in a sinuous wave under that manky coat which has hiked up just above waistline. There the visible crest of his right hip bone stands in such relief Clyde can pick out every spot a fingertip should rest to achieve the perfect hold on him.

For as scrawny as he his, Kenny’s ass is round, pushing against the band of pants that are starting to be too small for him. Clyde forces himself to look away, seek out Kenny’s face, but finds himself enamored by cracked lips and curious blue eyes.

“...Clyde?”

\-------

A bruise rallies to form across Tweek’s back, where Craig unintentionally slams him into the door when he gets between it and the growling brunette. Tweek has never experienced the ferociousness that’s overtaken Craig before--a snarling wolf in his room, slit eyed and clawed, ready to rip through Tweek and the door to get at his boyfriend’s parents.

“ _NO!_ ” Tweek yelps, arms coming up defensively. “Craig! You _can’t!_ ” Tails and ears, fangs and claws exposed; wolves squaring against each other, viciously challenging each other to a fight. “I w-WON’t _letyou!_ ”

“Move, Tweek!”

“I can’t! AGH! _Don’tkillmeCraig!_ ”  

“I’m not going to kill _you_ ,” To Tweek’s eyes Craig’s fangs glint in the moonlight, the rest of him a blackened shadow.

“Ba-CK off! I fucking mean it Craig!”

“Tweek--”

“Please-- _ngk--_ please, Craig--it won’t help, _oh God,_ Jesus, please back off!”

Craig’s face in the dark room is unreadable, his stare long and deep. After too long for the frayed Omega, Craig gives a sharp nod and stands straighter, no longer dangerously crowding Tweek.

“We’re leaving.” Craig declares. Tweek flinches from him, shuddering. Craig is furious, and it colors the monotone of his voice in black ash and bubbling lava capped by thin ice. “Grab what you need for the night.”

Tweek darts from the door around Craig, keeping half an eye on him in case he tries to go confront his parents while Tweek’s distracted, but he only goes and stands by the bed and the window.

Craig barely waits for Tweek to grab clothes to sleep in, his backpack, the _gift_  he'd shucked and crumpled the second he got upstairs _,_ and his thermos before he’s helping Tweek--all but pushing him--out the window, following him immediately, only pausing to close the window again, and down the lattice, getting them out of that house together.

Outside the cold is punishing, and neither are well prepared to face it. Standing in the snow Craig pulls the purple blanket from his pack and drapes it around Tweek’s shoulders. They share a look, nervous teeth tugging at bitten lips and cold blue eyes saying nothing.

It’s time to go. Craig’s grip on Tweek’s hand when he pulls him away is fierce, painful, squeezing through his every paranoid glance around, every stumble in his breath. Craig’s leading him along the street as fast as they can shuffle through the snow. In less than an hour the winds have picked up and they whip at the two boys mercilessly like chiding parents. The plush purple blanket flares and flaps behind Tweek like a cape, like wings, growing cold and wet and heavy.

Craig gets them to his house with no incident and no words, opening the unlocked front door and all-but throwing Tweek inside. He shuts them in, flicking the lock. Tweek’s thin body is wracked with shivers, from fear, from cold, from being overwhelmed by the events of the day. It’s with a tremulous sigh that Craig ushers Tweek upstairs to his room, taking the icy purple blanket from his boyfriend to throw over his desk chair to warm.

“Get changed.”

“Craig--”

“No. Just put on your pjs, Tweek.”

“I…”

Craig yanks off his own jeans, leaving the uncomfortably stuffed pajama pants on. Tweek looks away and strips off his clothes. His shirt, his pants, socks and shoes, all under Craig’s watch. He’s pulling sleep clothes from his bag, and in the pile of crumpled fabric is the apron his father gave him. The color is unusual for Tweek, and the symbols embroidered on it catch Craig’s attention.

“What is this?” He holds it up so the length of it dangles in view.

Tweek grunts anxiously, paling at the sight of it. “M-my new-- _nng--_ work apron!” He tugs at the hair brushing the top of his shoulder. “Dad got it for me. I-I think it’s some kind of message!”

Craig stares at the symbol on the chest--what he sees is a winged upside down “U”, the font squat and wide, a letter of some kind that doesn’t really look English. It’s vaguely familiar--maybe a logo from a movie or a product he’s glimpsed before but never needed--but he doesn’t recognize it. That Tweek has to wear it--with one on the front and one on the back--right on the ass of the fabric--alludes to the apron hosting a sinister meaning.

“I’ll ask my parents in the morning.” Craig decides, throwing it onto his desk so he may return to staring down his quivering boyfriend who stands awkwardly, stripped to his boxers. “What else do you have to tell me?”

Tweek backs up into the bed and curls up on the edge of it. He’s not dressed yet, so he wraps thin arms around his bare knees, hiding his ribs and concave stomach behind them. “I-I, God, I told you--”

“You didn’t tell me everything.” Craig interrupts, pointing at the apron, folding his arms. “Your parents want us to break up because I’m not an Alpha. They want you to wear some weird apron instead of the white one you always wear,”

Tweeks hands curl into his hair, and he stares at Craig with wide eyes that blink and flinch with his grunts and whimpers.

“They invited an Alpha friend over because they’re hoping you’ll like _him_ instead of me,” Tweek’s eyes drops briefly, looking away.

Craig reaches over Tweek to work his fingers from his hair before squeezing becomes tugging. “They’re happy you’re an Omega but you don’t know why, and they’re unhappy your first Heat was stopped so you have to go back to the clinic on Friday. What else?”

Tweek’s unable to stop himself from spasming, eyes jumping to other corners of the room. He can’t tell Craig everything now, no, he’s probably heard it all wrong--and it won’t matter--he can’t do anything about it anyways.

“Craig…”

“C’mon Tweek!” Craig places both hands on Tweek’s shoulders, nails threatening to become claws digging into pale skin. “I’m not fucking around--I need to know what’s going on! Or do you actually _want_ to break up?”

Tweek’s eyes snap up to Craig’s, blatant horror written all over his face. “ _NO!_  Jesus _Christ,_ no, Craig!”

Craig pushes Tweek hard, knocking him off balance and onto his back on the bed, looming over him. He’s standing, uncomfortably bent over Tweek, feeling the tremors in Tweek’s body under his palms.

“C-Cr--”

“I love you, Tweek.” A kiss is taken, a mere brushing over pale lips bloodless with stress. “I know you’re scared. I can’t even imagine how horrible tonight was for you. Trust me, I’m not going to let them break us up if you still want to be with me, okay? But you gotta talk to me.”

Tweek nods slowly, biting into his lower lip. He reaches up to embrace the lanky brunette, whose hands move to his hips instead. They maneuver until both are on the bed, though Craig climbs on top of Tweek again, hands planted either side the quaking blond’s head.

Blue eyes burn in the darkened room, and inside Tweek is an _ache_ , like longing, aroused and needy, seeking something he can’t describe. Hovering over him Craig is beautiful, his tousled black hair wind-whipped into discord, eyes a storm at sea, cold mask of a blank face only hinting at the passion inside, fixated entirely on the wolf under him.

Swallowing heavily, Tweek tries to smile. “I love you too, Craig,” His voice cracks, oscillates between whispers, whimpers and rasps. “I don’t want to break up. Jesus, I don’t want a-any of this!”

Craig’s eyes soften with a hint of vulnerable affection.

“I can’t go into Heat again, Craig--you have to--It’s the end man, if I do.” Words fail, a spasm twists his spine. “I want you to be my Alpha-- _no!_ You _have to!_ I don’t know what’ll happen if you don’t!”  

“I probably can’t control that, Tweek,” Craig replies quietly, taking another kiss. “But I’ll find out if I can. They’re not taking you from me.”

There’s a second's hesitation before Craig’s lips fall on Tweek’s to end the conversation. Mouths open with breaths and moans and tongues clashing wetly. Arms wrap around Craig’s neck, pulling him down against the Omega’s body and between his parted legs.

\------

Clyde never made the conscious decision to grab his clearly sick friend and throw him back off the bed and onto the floor; rather an instinctive rage thrummed up his spine the longer he stared into Kenny’s fever-burned eyes, and all-consuming became the inward demand to assert himself to this human wolf with eyes so very blue.

“ _Ow_ \--” Kenny hits the baseboard of the wall outward his room, left shoulder blade taking the sharpest of the impacts. He drops onto both elbows, breathing heavy through pain and nausea, worlds spinning into points.

Clyde climbs off the bed, unblinking at Kenny, shoulders raised. There’s a buzzing in his head and static in front of his eyes, slitted, above a mouth of sharp teeth and below flat laying brown ears.

“ _Kenny,_ ” He stalks over to the thin boy, nearly curling over him. He can’t look away from him. Blue eyes overtake everything. There’s a growing _need_ , hitting him in the gut, swelling between his legs. Kenny smells _delicious_ , sweet and musky all at once--something Clyde’s unable to parse. But he wants--

\--His fingers graze Kenny’s lips, down his chin and neck and back up. Kneeling over Kenny, rubbing at chapped skin, pushing at the seams of them, wanting to feel wet tongue and teeth. This one promised him service, but was going to sleep instead--no, not until he’s _satisfied_.

Clyde’s fingers break into his mouth, obtrusively worming over his tongue, deeper, scraping nails and dry, dirty skin. Kenny’s nausea spikes, triggering convulsions in his gut, saliva puddling under his tongue. He hears himself whine, and Clyde breathe, goldenrod ears listening for threats.

A thick, musky smell makes the brunette sweat heady, dizzying Kenny until he can’t see more than colors.

Clyde’s lips quirk up while Kenny’s mouth opens wider for another finger. Breaths labored, cold inhales over Clyde's slick skin and Kenny's hot tongue. Clyde's free hand heads towards his crotch, rubbing at his fly. He wants to have that cold and hot on his cock, wants to be sucked by Kenny, be swallowed down by him.

The boy would do it, too--he’s the one who offered. It only made sense; everyone knows Kenny is sexual, perverted, open to almost anything--it wouldn’t be weird to expect the poor wolf to deliver on a joking offer of sex. If it had never occurred to Clyde to do this before then it is about time--that fever-red face and glassy eyed stare is all his now.

The button at his fly is undone, and his hand is shaking in anticipations just enough to make Clyde miss the first attempt to grasp and pull his zipper down.

Kenny’s gasp for air is covered by a knocking on the door.

“Kenny?”

Both boys freeze, one with a panic; Clyde scowls.

“Kenny, are you awake? There’s a weird smell coming from your room and mama wants to know if you stole her weed again.”

Clyde yanks his fingers from Kenny’s mouth as the blond squirms to get away. He throws Clyde a worried and hurt look, scrambling to get up and to the door.

“No Kare--s’not weed--”

 _‘What the fuck was I just doing?’_ Clyde stares at his hand, his fingers drying rapidly in the cool room. Fingers he’d shoved into Kenny’s mouth without permission, and the urge to do it again thrums through his gut; to do that and more. Not even when he’d dated Bebe, who used to loved teasing him with that reward, had he wanted so badly to have his cock sucked.

Kenny finishes at the door, but stands at the portal glancing over at Clyde questioningly, warily, with fathomless eyes that probe and _know_ things, the way he always seems to.

“I--”

Not since he stole the Stick of Truth had anyone looked at him with such distrust. Clyde hates it, and he thinks he could cry right there but for the swirl of _denied_ and _angry_ that paralyzes. Guilt and _I’m not wrong_ at war.

“I’m sorry,” It sounds insincere in his nasal voice, forced out over the urge to reach out, but Kenny relaxes anyways, resting his weight on the doorframe. “I think I should go home.”

“Yeah,” Kenny makes a move as if to pull up his hood, but doesn’t follow through. “Clyde, when I’m feelin’ better--”

“Huh?”

“I’ll give ya a blowjob later, okay? When I don’ feel like throwin' up. If y’still want one. F’r’shoes.”

Clyde can’t help but blink incomprehensibly until that sinks in. An arrogantly streaked feeling of relief flows through the husky wolf; Kenny’s blushing--the biggest pervert in their class is blushing at the thought of giving _him_ a blowjob.

“Alright dude,” Clyde sniffs back some off emotions, though the embarrassment won't slip away. “I’ll catch you later then?” He doesn’t have much stuff with him, so it’s a quick grab before he’s moving by Kenny at the door, taking in one last sniff of that oddly enticing smell hanging like an aura around the boy.

Kenny doesn’t see Clyde out, if he had, Clyde might not have come down from those heightened feelings so quickly, as when the fresh air hits his nose and clears Kenny’s scent from him, it tempers the anger and desire into confusion and regret.

He pulls out his cell phone, ignoring the missed calls from his dad and a text from Jimmy to send one of his own to Token.

**_To: Token; 5:36P.M._ **

**_From: Clyde; Read 5:39P.M.:_ **

_Hey dude u free? Need 2 talk 2 u_

 

**_To: Clyde; 5:44P.M._ **

**_From: Token; Read 5:45P.M.:_ **

_I’m not busy. My house?_

 

**_To: Token; 5:46P.M._ **

**_From: Clyde; Read 5:46P.M.:_ **

_Sounds good. OMW_

Kenny watches Clyde finish on the phone and walk away with slumped shoulders from the living room window. He’s glad the other boy didn’t realize he was being watched and turn back, and now he’s gone every bone, every muscle feels ready to collapse. He has to drag himself back to bed, mind a cloud of fever and pheromones and a vague arousal that dogs the heels of every thought.


	7. Along Through a Burning Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!
> 
> Thank you again for the kind comments and kudos. I appreciate your encouragement very much. Reading your reactions makes all the writing, plotting, planning, timelines, notebooks and research much more fun.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by, “Shit, I didn’t think it’d be this long, this late, and have any of you seen/played DRAMAticalMurder? Cuz I’m kinda obsessed with those bad endings. Which has me thinking about the ending...s… of this fic.  
> Maybe some “not canon unless you want them to be” inserts, alternatives, Etc…"
> 
> This chapter also brought to you by the words: “back”, “lean” and “head”, which i has a time going back and turning into other words. I hate repeating my words too much x.x
> 
> I am following this: https://epicsouthparklover.deviantart.com/journal/all-the-south-park-characters-birthdays-304826030 persons's birthday list. I took what I could from the wikia, but Tweek and Craig's b-day's aren't on it so... this works :P
> 
> Kenny and his families' accents are remain way too fun and awfully hard XD. Since Kenny doesn't seem to have any canon influence from his parents, Kevin does, once in a while Karen might, and their parents' accents are *different*... bwah. I love it <3
> 
> ***Some risque business ahead, as well as semi-graphic descriptions of bloodwork***

 

* * *

 

Sugary warmth slips over Tweek, a solid, living blanket heavy over him. Craig’s weight is a comfort keeping him from floating away into the darkness of his thoughts and the grasping, clawing unknown. Breaths mix, humid gusts over chin and throat, a subtle warning before tongue and teeth taste and take.

They weave their mouths into a seam, holding each other together for as long as it lasts, and when it tears, Craig rears back to strip himself of his coat, his blue long sleeved, and shucks as well his jeans and sleep pants. He strips off socks to a beat created in Tweek’s clicking throat, falling back onto the bed at the second stanza.

“Tweek, you’re...” A thin smell of coffee hovers somewhere around Tweek’s neck, behind his ears, in the sharp dips of his bold, hollow collar.

“ _Nng---_ what, Craig?” Muddled hazel opens from a long blink, as stomachs meet in bare skin, firm hands with long fingers slide over arms to push trembling mates into the softness of the bed.

“...Nothing,” Craig takes another kiss, eating down the noises of protesting curiosity Tweek draws from his lungs.  “It doesn’t matter right now, Tweek.”

Hips roll down, building fires between them while anxious, pleasured noises get gobbled up as well, straining hands are freed to paw and claw human nails over the skin of Craig’s shoulders, already strong, growing stronger the more he carries time and worldly weight with him.

A newly empty hand finds new purpose beneath their bellies, inelegantly stroking and sweeping and gripping at the bulging cotton of their boxers, farming gasps and cries to be indulged in the way one eats their favorite meal, swallowed up by hungry teeth.

Tweek’s legs kick where they fall aside him, slipping over the edge of the bed, finding shady purchase to thrust up against that bold hand, greedy for Craig’s focus. A tremble rocks Craig’s seismic center, resonating from the base of his spine, undulating into his boyfriend’s touch.

“ _Chk--aah--_ Craig--”

“Can I take them off?” Thumb and forefingers catch the waistband of Tweek’s black cotton boxers, feeling along the edge as if examining the sharpness of a blade, dared by the burning skin beneath to graze a knuckle on the cliff shelf of hip bone.

Tweek hiccups an aborted squeak, clenching his teeth in vain to muffle himself. Craig presses his quirked lips to Tweek’s again, only to be displaced by frantic nodding. So drawing away, giving love a chance to explore where it wishes, those hands that shiver form a searching team of wanderers, mapping over Craig’s naked chest, discovering again where muscles steel to form and baby fat clings like the last leaves of Fall.

Instinct within demands more, begs for fangs and scents and something unknown, beyond sex, perhaps where forever lies eternal and out of reach, not yet found.

Craig rids them of their boxers when Tweek touches the band of Craig’s own, quickly stuffing them away under the blankets with them. Together they entwine hip to hip, fire to fire, sticky with pre-cum, thin dribbles of slick sliding down Tweek’s inner thighs, the scent of mocha and coffee beans growing bolder.

Craig takes them both in one fist, quickly adjusting to cover Tweek’s mouth with the other, hot pants and muted cries, scrabbling fingers and needs blending into the darkness.

A growl rumbles into Craig’s throat, buckling him down into Tweek again and again, unable to choose between stroking and where they rub together naturally, frantic to reach a peak. A twist of his wrist, his thumb hooking under Tweek’s balls to press on the slick-wet skin just behind.

“Craig, Craig, Craig _\--Please--_ ” Tweek’s lips form the words that Craig reads against his palm, pride and lust and this rail-thin boy a respite from the world, his everything being right here.

Together, with Craig's hand around them both, they find the end.

\-------

“Craig! Get your butt down here, mister!” Laura’s voice calls up the stairs, climbing each step with controlled urgency and upset. She stands at an open door, a barely lit world of gray and white beyond an immovable obstacle.

Her words don’t reach Craig behind his locked bedroom door with his head under a blanket and left ear pressed to the shelter-warm skin of Tweek’s chest. Tweek, long awake, hears her, and it arrests the air in his lungs, sending ripples of worry through naturally trembling limbs.

He’s been lost somewhere in the blank, black space of not sleeping, but not seeing either; a dark place occupied by Craig’s quiet snores and the sound of life coming and going outside on the wind.

A shelter made of comforters and sheets can easily be broken by outside disturbances, and now the spell is sundered, raw and gaping, an agitated expectation demanding they who hide to appear.

“Craig--Craig, your mom is calling!”

“No,” He mumbles, refusing to even lift his head.

_“Craig! Are you awake?”_

“ _Aagh!_ You have to get up! What--what if she comes in here and sees us? Jesus, fuck, Craig, if-- _ngk--_ she’ll forbid me from ever seeing you again and then you’ll be sent to the bi-curious camp with Butters!”

Craig rolls his visible eye up to Tweek, blinking slowly and unaffectedly at the boy. “Tweek… mom knows we’re gay. Butters doesn’t go to bi-curious camp anymore and she’s already walked in on us naked. ‘Sides, the door’s locked.”

Tweek yanks his hands up to cover his face. He’d almost forgotten--buried--the memory of Mrs. Tucker opening the door on them first deciding that grabbing each other’s dicks was an excellent iidea.

“Jesus, don’t remind me!”

Craig snorts softly, quietly amused, and nips at a collarbone trying to ruin his comfy pillow.

“Craig!”

“Ugh, fine, relax babe,” He kisses the nipped skin, in apology for the yawning command, pushing himself up to into the cold air of the bedroom. It hangs over and around them, clinging like wet snow, a dazed fog creeping in from the grey outside.

 _“Craig? Why is your door locked? Are you awake?”_ Laura calls from the other side of it, having given up yelling up the stairs and coming to irately wake her son.

“Yeah, I just got up,” He replies, ignoring her question.

_“Tweek’s mom is here; they can’t find him. He’s not in there with you is he?”_

Craig peers up at Tweek, who, with frightful wide eyes slaps both hands over his mouth to cover his alarmed yelp.

“No, I don’t know where he is.”

\-------

_“You shut yer fuckin’ mouth! I am not gettin’ rid o’th’baby!”_

_“Dammit, woman! I only sold them tires so y’could go to the clinic and deal w’this shit! Now you gone and changed your mind?”_

“...Kenny, Kenny wake up, we have to go to school. Are you okay?”

“...M’awake Kare,” He answers, rolling over through a thousand pounds of aches, clothes sweat damp and sticking uncomfortably to his skin and a brushing of fur at the base of his spine, uneven patches sprouting inbetween nightmares and fever dreams. “M’alright,”

“You don’t look it,” She points out, lips twisting in her concern. “You should stay home and rest.”

_“Fuck you bitch! I’m not paying for one more diaper!”_

_“Yes you will! Yer gunna git a job this time Stuart!”_

Kenny chuckles, though the expanding of his lungs echos in his head in a rhythmic throb. “I won’t  rest any ‘round here,”

Karen takes on such an apologetic appearance that Kenny musters his strength to sit up onto his knees.

“I’ll be fine in a few days, don’cha worry none. Nuthin’ can keep yer big bro down.” A grin as wide as his ears breaks out to reassure her. Cracks in his lips split and bead with red, but hers are the same.

Her hard jerking nod is proof enough she accepts his words. So satisfied, Kenny climbs off the bed, forcing himself not to stagger too much while his sister is in the room, going for his closet, ignoring the swirling patterns in the walls.

“You smell real funny,” Karen blurts out when Kenny has his only nightshirt halfway off. He blinks at her over his shoulder.

“What’s it smell like t’ya?”

“Um,” She sniffs the air, furrow-browed in thought. “Toffee? And rubber? No… Burnt toast?”  

Kenny snorts, tossing his nightshirt back into the lopsided drawer for the day. “Sounds gross,”

“Yeah… Maybe you should take a shower?” Her teasing smile is audible, and Kenny chuckles to hear it. Never would he discourage her to say anything she wants to him.

“I’ll take one after gym, promise. Go wait fer me at th’door n’we’ll walk t’the bus stop t’geth’r.”

Karen scoots from the room, leaving Kenny to change into outdoor pants and his only pair of socks. Swampwater-stained light casts shadows of bug carcasses trapped between the screen and glass onto the floor, dirtying the age-grayed toes of those thin socks.

A small spot of blood catches a moment of hazy distraction, drawing attention to itself. Brown and dried to the base of the wall, one of thousands of similar spots familiar to Kenny, though the memory of this one happens to catch the pilot light buried beneath his stomach, somewhere of a primal ancestry, skittering around engorging veins and tempered throb.

That is where, when Clyde shoved him, sending him flying into the wall, he hit it and fell. Kenny couldn’t recall bleeding, but his shoulder must’ve scraped on the crumbling plaster; simply with how everything else aches it’s gone unnoticed.

A faint blush of no relation to the fever--except perhaps in cause--tickles freckled cheeks red. Clyde never gave off the impression he’d grab anyone by the arm, or throw them, or stand over them like that--Mosquito wouldn’t have tried that with Mysterion.

Unless Mosquito were also an Alpha.

Contemplating what that means, Kenny finds the shallow cut on his left shoulder.

\-------

Craig’s using the breadth of his body, still wiry and lanky with teenagehood to block his mother from both seeing and getting into his room. She looms over him--in attitude, glaring at the son that has dared to reach her height at nearly fifteen years.

“This is serious.” She hisses, keeping her voice quiet. Both of them able to see Susan Tweak standing just inside the threshold of the Tucker house, hands clasped demurely in front of her, staring straight ahead with nothing on her face. “His mom’s worried, and his dad--”

“I don’t know where he is.” Craig repeats, tempering his voice into a void of nothingness, giving away neither fear nor anger.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Laura declares, angling even closer. She knows not what Susan can hear of their conversation, but doubtless her son is hiding something. It’s probably whatever is making the quietest of muffled sounds in the closet, as Stripe is asleep in her cage. “You’d be _freaking out_ if he were missing, Craig. If you’re going to _lie_ then be _believable_.” His eyes widen by a fraction, and there, mother wins again.

Louder in words dripping with saccharine motherhood, she proves that she too is a better actor than Craig. “I know, darling, you’re so worried about him! I need you to go to school today, alright? We’ll text you as soon as we find him.”

Craig has to clear his throat and cough up some saliva before he sounds sufficiently broken up with. He has something to prove. “Tweek wouldn’t want me to help anyways; he told me last night that--”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Susan’s mild voice cuts through Craig’s remarkable attempt to sound like a newly ex-boyfriend. She’d ascended the stairs so silently neither had noticed. “I really must be getting back to my husband and the shop. If you happen to see Tweek, please send him to the coffee shop?”

Craig shifts to block more of the door, Laura mirrors him automatically, the wolf deep within commanding to protect her cubs.

“Not to school?” Laura sharp tone probes, listening to the little warning bells ringing, but unsure why they do so.

“Oh, no, no. We just want to know he’s okay first; Richard will drive him to school to finish the day.”

“Oh, yes of course.” Laura switches back on her motherly voice. “Please do let me know if you find him first or if anything changes?”

Susan smiles delicately, painted lips perfectly shaped beneath dead, emotionless eyes. “I will. I’m sure he’s only gotten himself trapped in another dumpster somewhere. Tweek’s so clumsy sometimes, especially with other people’s time.”

She disregards the furrowed brows and the off-guard tensing of the two present Tuckers and floats back down the stairs, silent but for the swish of her dress. Susan doesn’t so much as glance back before closing the door behind her.

Laura and Craig hold a silent beat, a shared standoff that ends quickly with a loud thump and a muffled, _“JESUS CHRIST!”,_ coming from the room behind Craig, who levels a bland look at his mother as if he will gladly insist right to her face that the noise was made by Stripe.

“God dammit Craig,” Laura sighs deeply, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Why are we hiding Tweek? You’d better explain why I lied to his mother and you’d better do it _well_.”

\-------

“Hey dude,”

“‘Sup guys?”

Kenny joins an already ruffled Kyle, not-awake-yet Stan and a narrowed-eyed Cartman at their cluster of lockers. Cartman keeps trying to use his weight to knock Stan out of the way so he may scrutinize Kyle, but it doesn’t work.

Stan gained several inches in height early, becoming one of the taller freshman of the year, and despite Cartman’s claims to the impossible, his vegan diet and football practice helped him to pack on some linebacker muscle.

Kenny can’t hold back his wispy laughter--for all Cartman’s weight he never bothered to learn how to throw it around, and Stan holds him back effortlessly. Cartman’s attention is caught, and the poor wolf becomes a convenient excuse to acknowledge defeat and change targets.

“What’s the matter with you, _Kenny_ , you look like shit,” Cartman’s lower lip drops. “And you fucking reek, poor boy. Did your water get turned off again?” Cartman’s beady eyes calculate the oddity in front of him, picking Kenny apart from holey hood to ratty shoes, a sneer drags condescendingly across his wide face.

“Thanks, man, b-f-f’s forever.” Kenny laughs it off, pushing his quiet chuckles through the sore and swollen glands paining his throat. Cartman’s mirror-blind disdain is familiar, almost welcomed as a mark of normalcy in the ever unpredictable South Park life.

Kyle throws him a concerned look, raking for cause to be alarmed as much as reason to stay away--he does _not_ want to catch whatever Kenny’s plagued with now; the blond might recover from the most ridiculous of ailments, but Kyle knows his own delicate constitution well.

“It’s not like you smell any better, fatass. You smell like you bathe in chicken fat.”

“Shut the fuck up, _Kyle._ You’re going to eat it when I test as a Classic Alpha and you all are _bitches_.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait for today to be over so I can stop listening to this shit. Right, Stan?” Kyle expectantly awaits for Stan to agree with him, as he’s become quite used to, miffed when he doesn’t pipe up immediately.

“Hey, Stan, the fuck is wrong with _you?_ ” Grumbles Cartman, when the status quo does not fulfill itself.

If Kenny knows anything, it’s how to read a predator sizing up the creature in front of them; he’s seen it on the faces of many a mugger, monster, animal and spirit shortly before the world reset itself. Stan’s body, taller and broader than the rest of them already, angles ever-so-slightly down closer to him despite the almost casual way he appears to be resting on the lockers waiting for everyone to be ready to go.

There’s a slit in his pupils that most likely wasn’t there until Kenny walked up, a spot of bloodless skin on his lips where they’re pressed tightly shut. A curling of those shoulders showing tension under a thick brown coat.

Kenny smiles calmly at him, hiding his teeth, cocking his head in apparent curiosity--which happens to reveal a swathe of pale skin and gold hair beneath the loose hood.  Something seems to relax in the tall brunette, and he breaks gaze with Kenny.

“What?”

“God dammit, if you don’t stop acting like a bunch of assholes I’m gunna ditch you all for the Alphas.”

Kyle rolls his eyes and smacks Stan’s arm. He deliberately shares the briefest of concerned expressions with Stan alone, gifting Cartman his scoffing interest.

“What Alphas? You don’t know any Alphas.” Kyle snaps.

As a group they take the halls full of clamoring students and high tensions. Tweek’s name gets passed around, mingling with the most damning of words: ‘ _Omega’_ and ‘ _Heat’_ echoing in gossip rings.

“ _Duh,_ once they find out who’s gunna be what everyone’s going to break into groups.” Cartman’s eyeroll is exaggerated enough to make him stumble a step and bump into Kenny, knocking him into Stan, who rights him slowly, touch lingering on his upper arm. “ _I’ll_ never have to deal with you fags again.”

“If only we would be so lucky!”

\------

Craig slams his locker with intentional force, using the _bang_ as warfare tactics to send a few lingering kids scattering. He’s got a face of murder, hiding the dizzying worry eating him alive under a sour expression.

None of his rage will scare away his best friends, however, and they brave middle fingers and glares until they’ve arrived at Craig’s side.

“So you look… happy,” Token comments, carefully placing in an inappropriate word. “Did you and Tweek have a fight? He wasn’t on the bus either.”

“He’s at the shop again. His parents are making him work.”

“What? But it’s a school day.” Token points out needlessly, intentionally.

“Yep.”

Clyde and Token share a look, but don’t express that they’re afraid of why Tweek’s parents are keeping him out of school. Their friend’s parents are knives and swords and pots of boiling coffee dangling by fishing line inlaid with old metaphorical poems, dangling precariously over his head, threatening to swallow him whole into a well of paranoid psychosis and beds with belt restraints.

“Guess they had a lot of backlog from being away. He’s their only employee still, right?” It’s a weak offer, bleakly dripping to the floor, a question unanswerable.

Craig’s hand freezes, only for a moment. He can’t bring himself to nod, for they knows that’s not why, and if he shakes his head then more questions he’s not ready to answer will come. His hand misses his boyfriend’s, his world is too steady without Tweek shaking him up.

Without Tweek things are wrong; he’s alone at school without his boyfriend to keep him present, and Tweek--alone with his parents, trapped in that _apron_ with the Omega symbol resting on his chest and ass for all to see. Tweek’s self-conscious as it is--after what Craig’s mother revealed--it must be driving him literally crazy to be ogled by anyone who _knows_.

Token wisely changes the subject before Clyde can open his well-intentioned mouth and make it worse.

“Did you text Kyle to tell Kenny this morning, like we discussed?”

Craig glances aside and catches the color blooming over the brunette’s face like carnations drawing on Spring sunlight. He can practically see fluffy brown ears twitching embarrassedly. At his lips begins a small smile, crooked and a little awkward.

“Uh, no. I thought it sounded stupid after I got home--yanno? I could walk to his house before Kyle remembers he has more friends than just Stan and checks his phone.” His appearance slides back and forth between sheepish and wolfish, as if he can’t decide whether he should be ashamed of his wimping out, or vaguely pleased about the day in whole.

“Kenny? Why?”

Craig starts leading them to homeroom, half listening to Clyde and Token and the rest of him devoted to thinking about Tweek, missing his cold hands in his own. What would he be up to now, at this hour…? He could only spare Clyde a bite of his attention.

“He was really sick, man! He threw up all over my shoes! So we went to his house and smoked.” Clyde settles on some kind of twisted confidence, even as carnation blushes tickle his nose. “He’s uh..”

“Yeah, you skipped to hang out at _McCormick’s._ What else would there be to do but smoke?”

“Listen to his folks scream, I guess. I dunno, I fell asleep.”

Token sighs fondly. “Of course you did.”

Their homeroom teacher, David Kellman, is standing just inside the doorway of the classroom, dark eyes narrowed warily, roaming over the students with poorly concealed suspicion. He pauses, seeing Craig.

“Craig, I see that Tweek isn't with you. Is he coming to school today?”

“No.”

The man’s stance eases, ever so slightly, though he still looks over his students as they pass him as if they carried snakes in their backpacks and purses, under hats and up sleeves. Craig’s heckles rise, a bloom of black fur over his ruff, sensing Kellerman’s hostility.

“Why?”

His question catches the human wolf off-guard. David shakes his head, too tense to deal with his student’s disrespect.

“...No reason. Tell him I hope he feels better and can come back to class soon.” Cold dishonesty breaks the words into insincere shards, scattering at their feet quietly.

Craig storms past him, mumbling some agreeing words and taking the seat at the far wall by a broad, bright window. Closing his eyes until his fur melts away. Clyde and Token sit around him, Clyde to the left and Token just behind Craig, the two sharing concerns.

Cartman, Kyle, Stan, Kenny and Butters filter into the room, making their way to various seats. Butters sits in front of Jimmy and strikes up a conversation with him over this week’s School News publication. Kenny heads in Clyde’s direction slowly, careful of fever-aching joints and a world that isn’t quite level.

Clyde stiffens, rigid rods replacing the slouch of his spine; being on Craig’s left puts him closest to Kenny, who finds a spot two over from his with Stan on his other side. Their eyes meet briefly, only for such a _rush_ to thrill up Clyde’s spine that he can only choose to look away, before Kenny has the chance to talk.

Token elbows him, observant enough to catch the awkward exchange. He nods in Kenny’s direction, twice when the husky boy doesn’t respond. Clyde gulps loudly, finally turning, only to be captivated by the friendliest of McCormick grins, the kind no one ever used to see until age and poverty deprived the boy of his hiding places.

 _‘Lovely like the first light of morning,’_ is the wording Clyde would have chosen, had he more poetic a mind, but _‘He’s pretty,’_ suffices.

“H-hey Kenny,”

“Morning, Clyde. Didja make it home okay?” Soft words drape themselves over fluffy pink lips, nothing at all abnormal or special about them, though all the same Clyde’s heart goes _thump thump thump_.

“I uh, I did. Thanks. Are you feeling better? You’re still really pale.” Clyde leans over his desk as if drawn, the two next to him still empty, and surreptitiously breathes in the air around Kenny. ‘ _And you smell even better today--like pie. What kind of pie… pumpkin? Pecan? Dammit, I’m hungry.’_

“Don’cha worry ‘bout it none. I’ll be fine in a jiffy.”

“Couldn’t you have stayed home today though?”

“Nah, s’a big day ‘round here, n’I wouldn’t wanna be outta th'loop.”

Two more students file conveniently in, their steps hurried as the teacher pointedly shuts the door behind them, disrupting Clyde’s intentions to converse. They make right for the desks between Kenny and Clyde, forcing the brunette to return to his own space.

It sparks an irritation, the kind he feels when an opponent steals the football from their team, or when Bebe used to steal the last of his fries. Rebellious, Clyde tilts backwards awkwardly over the cold and hard chair so he can still see Kenny, pale and freckled nose wrinkling in amusement.

“Attention,” David Kellman snaps, standing stiff at the blackboard, forcing Clyde to return to his posture properly.

“As you may or may not know, today homeroom, first and second period will be normal. Third and fourth period everyone in the Freshman class will be in the gymnasium for PC Principal’s assembly, and then you will be tested by the Genetics and Classification specialists that were brought in for Presentation and Pre-Presentation.” David is decidedly unhappy about this, his disgust with the topic obvious in his clipped tones.

“Of course the other grades will have theirs over the next week. Once you get your results you’ll be dismissed for the day, with lunch still being offered in the cafeteria is you choose.a

Remind your parents about the emergency PTA meeting tonight at six and we need them all to attend. That is all. Pull out your textbooks and start studying. I don’t want to hear any of you talking.”

David, an unremarkable two ticks over pure Beta, had moved down to South Park before the town began its unexpected boom heralded by Whole Foods, ShiTiPa Town and Historic SoDoSoPa. As those collapsed into ruin or--quite literally flew away--many of the people who’d relocated seeking a quaint and quiet mountain town of majorly Betas decided to stay regardless, finding the oddities and charms of South Park to be one-way-in-no-way-out.

His wife Ellen and he had left the city, tired of Alpha preferentials, Beta seating and Omega courtesy. Sick of being distinguished by their rankings rather than accomplishments. Having put in less than two years at the brand new South Park High School--credited to the many families moving in and the founding families realizing they’d rather their pups attend school closer to home--here he was being confronted by a new generation of _ranks_.

His glare covers the room, sweeping side to side, apparently watching to ensure a proper application of study time, in reality his mostly Beta senses pick individuals and try to classify them. A deep inhale reveals only the same smell as always--sweaty, sleepy students with no intention of waking up earlier than they must to handle something as optional as bathing.

David drops into his uncomfortable chair that leaves him an inch or so too low. He pulls out a blank-covered book from an overstuffed drawer and opens it somewhere near the end, where a bookmark covered in the South Park Cows logo and mascot awaits him in glossy, laminated glory.

Clyde peeks up from his math homework as soon as the teacher is distracted. Kenny has folded his arms on his desk and buried his face into them. His slowly dying hoodie wrinkles where it rises and falls with deep, sleepy breaths. Disappointed, Clyde tucks his chin, drooping in his seat.

\-------

“I’m so sorry!” Tweek’s scratchy voice cracks over his plea. His arms drawn tight into his side trying to prevent a more physically acrobatic demonstration of his stress. “I-I didn’t _mean to--_ oh God, don’t kill me or tell my _parents!_ ”

Tweek’s voice is not made for subtlety while entreating understanding and bleating panic. Craig crowds against him, trying to grab Tweek’s hand and balking when he is rebuked. Tweek immediately squawks another apology, snatching handfuls of his hair, bringing about a reason to insist.

Thomas and Tricia, father and daughter a sleepy mirror of each other, forty minutes from wake-up alarms going off, peer curiously from respective doorways. Laura shakes her head and both disappear with twin yawns. She waits for Thomas to come back out in his large blue robe, two old coffee mugs in one hand; he appears, exactly as she expected.

“Tweek, sweetie, why don’t you two get dressed and then we get you some coffee? And you can tell us what’s going on.”

His frantic nodding ensures only a number of seconds goes by before emerging in dark jeans, one sock and a long sleeved shirt to complete his ensemble of boxers and previously, lone sock.

Craig is slower still shuffling through a drawer, so Laura takes Tweek’s hands in hers, newly freed from tangles of buttermilk blond, and urges him to walk with her. Craig turns into his room and goes for the ‘ _gift_ ’ Tweek’s parents had given their son. He doesn’t know what the embroidered symbol means, but he has a guess, and if he’s right it’s nothing good, and he’ll need their help.

Laura has Tweek putting in the filter and ground whilst she fills the pot with water. His legs quake under him as if he’d slept none and run a marathon through snow. As if, perhaps, he’d been confronted with an older suitor, his parents seemingly trying to arrange a marriage with a friend of theirs, and then commanding Tweek to break up with his boyfriend.

Craig isn’t about to let that happen, and goes to steady Tweek with a hand to his lower back, stuffing the apron into the waist of his own pants. “It’ll be okay, honey. You’re still safe. We’ll listen to you.” Tweek whines, turning quickly and briefly to hug onto Craig, indulged only for a moment; there is much to talk about and little time.

Thomas sits in his favorite chair, the one he builds all his models in, comforted by its strength and rigidity, a good chair which does not groan to hold his weight. He wishes he weren’t awake right now, that he was in bed with his wife, warm and secure and his pack content. Supposedly this is what one gets when one has teenagers, however.

Laura emerges from the kitchen with two tall mugs, one of which she places in front of Thomas at the table, and the other on the coffee table by the sofa, where she plans to sit. Craig carries his and Tweek’s drinks, his in a mug and Tweek’s filling his silver thermos to the brim.

Tweek sits crosslegged on the floor, short snaps of air pop through the gaps of coffee-stained teeth. Craig folds his legs to sit beside Tweek. Grating, the rough bunched fabric of the apron makes for an uncomfortable seat. Craig removes it, grunting until it’s free. He unfolds the rather wrinkled garment, displaying the vivid emerald embroidery on the chest.

“Do you know what this is?” Craig asks bluntly, half lidded eyes keeping a distance between him and the storm brewing over the sea of his calm thoughts, stirring up frothing waves and the debris of many sunken ships.

Thomas chokes on a hot gulp, nearly spilling everything the ‘ _#1 Dad_ ’ mug Tweek bought him for the previous Christmas held. He curses, hurrying into the kitchen for paper towels. Laura observes him with fond agitation, a sigh, and leaves him to it.  

“Where did you get this?”

“M-m-y parents gave it to me,” Tweek stutters, chattering teeth clicking loudly. “At dinner. I have wear it in the shop. I don’t-- _nnrr_ \--know why! Dad said--advertisement?” Memories can be as hard to grab as jello, slippery enough to fall out of his grip and too thin to hold for long. “ _Advertise what?!_ He wouldn’t tell me!”

Craig strokes down the side of Tweek’s leg, not expecting to stop or fix, only to remind if his presence and strength.

“Tweek,” Laura starts heavily, slowly. “That is the Greek symbol for ‘Omega’. You’ve never seen it before?”

He shakes his head frantically, as if she were accusing him of some crime his brain wanted to create from scratch.

“Okay. Well… that’s what it is. Can you tell us anything else about last night?”

Tweek hesitates, visibly holding himself back until his churning mind catches threads of words and thoughts. “ _Rrr..._ I--I was made to sit at a table with some Alpha my parents said they know--b-but I’ve never heard his name before!--And we were there for hours and I wasn’t allowed _to leave!_ ”

_Carter’s broad hand, hot and shameless at the table with his parents ghosts up the thigh of Tweek’s pants, deliberately dismissing his discomfort, creeping as a five-legged spider closer to his crotch, stopping when the phantom touch of his fingers--so close, but not quite there--threatens Tweek into whimpering plaintively. The spider strikes._

Tweek swipes at his eyes, dry, dry; chronic dehydration leaves him dry, for now bereft of the tears which stab sharply under the endless black and purple bags of sleepless nights painted on his face. He forces down a long drink, embracing the bitter brew flipping circuits on all over him, attempting to transform the beatline of the exhausted into taut electric synapses fired on artificial adrenaline.

Laura may have taught Craig everything he knew about keeping his cards hidden, a skill he proudly perfected, but she also taught him how to take what he’d learned from Heidi and expand it into a repertoire of compassion to open spaces just for Tweek.

She shows the Omega her sympathy, her partially-concealed horror, and Tweek basks, opening easily to parental figures that actually _care_ , who give him more than metaphor and empty words.

“They want me to break up with Craig--but I don’t want to!”

“What?” Thomas shouts, jumping up from his chair, just barely avoiding knocking his mug over. “But they’ve supported you two from day one!”

Tweek gags, flinching away, right into one of Craig’s arms. Thomas pauses, slowing himself until he can sit down again. Craig releases the snarl that’d begun to build in his throat, where is dissipates into a displeased huff.

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbles. “But I don’t get it.”

“It’s because I’m not an Alpha,” Craig grunts quietly. “And they want Tweek to date the guy that came over.”

“But that’s crazy!” Laura snaps, offended on her son’s behalf. “You’re not even fifteen! You’re not _supposed_ to be an Alpha yet-- _or_ \--an Omega!”

“If this guy’s your folks’ friend… how old is he?” Thomas asks, letting Laura sputter angrily.

Tweek raises his knees to his chest, but holds his thermos tightly in both hands instead of wrapping up his knees. “He said from… from college.” Desperate bewilderment swirls, hurt and confusion bleeding through his sandpaper voice. Without seemingly to notice, Tweek begins shaking his lidded thermos. “He’s at least as old as my dad! I don’t know why they’re doing this! Why are they doing this to me?!”

Laura worries she’s swallowed ice, the cold inside her is familiar only to the times when someone she loves has been endangered, or hurt--when she got a call many years ago that Craig and Tweek put each other in the hospital through a viscous dogfight.  

“They _can’t_ do that.” She states, praying she has God’s good graces to be right. “You’re just a child!”

“Mom,” Craig sighs, he can’t imagine anyone being a child in South Park; none of them are innocents, and they weren't even as kindergarteners, watching their teacher burn alive. After the dark and warm nest they came together in the night before, he hates that word even more.

“No. No that’s ridiculous to even think about. I’m going to contact someone--there’s got to be a-a-an Omega agency, or law firm, or a Reditt thread that will prove me right!”

“ _Mom_ ,” Craig repeats. He’s got more to prod out of Tweek, or explain himself if Tweek can’t, and she looks about ready to leap into a car without a destination. “There’s something else.”

“Jesus, what else?”

Craig nudges Tweek encouragingly, wondering if this is one of those rare times when Tweek’s words pull in more directions than he can turn and herd them into coherence. It’s only gotten worse since they celebrated becoming teenagers, as being an autonomous human wolf fails to assert against an onslaught of anti-support.

“My parents are--I went into Heat while they were out of town a-a-and-- _God_ \--they’re taking me to the doctor tomorrow to get it _fixed!_ I think they’re mad a-at you--don’t be angry! Jesus, I’m sorry! _Aagh!_ ”

Laura’s shoulders stiffen indignantly, not at all entertaining a reason  _Tweek_ should apologize. “What? What would they have had me do? You were not okay at all--I’m amazed you’re alright _now_ \--anyone else would have done the same!”

“Calm down honey,” Thomas mutters, stained the color of a kind quiet anger only parents and Pack Leaders seem to bother mastering. “We don’t know everything yet,” He pulls his cell phone from the pocket of his blue and white striped sleep-pants, unlocking it to set about a task. “But we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

\-------

“Craig,” Laura stops him at the door, a firm hand on his shoulder. Tweek is gone, running somewhere out in the cold in inadequate clothes, without even a house key, to the coffee shop where his parents await him. He’d not wanted to go at all, terrified of whatever bizarrely non-aggressive confrontation awaits him.

They’d decided to continue the lie that Tweek was never at their house, at least until Laura and Thomas met with the Tweaks at the PTA meeting that evening. Craig had protested letting Tweek go, fearing that he were risking never seeing him again; alas, Richard and Susan have proved themselves to be insincere, yes, but cunning people--concealing Tweek would not last long. Laura remains unconvinced that Susan didn’t know her son was in Craig’s room.

“I’m going to speak to you like an adult, and I expect you to act like one now, and I better get your full attention for it.”

She comes around in front of him, and only waits for their eyes to meet to go on.

“If his parents have him wearing the Omega symbol at work, I fear they’re advertising _his_ Omega rank, rather than maybe showing support for _all_ Omegas. It could be as harmless as when Richard used Tweek’s sexuality as a selling point for the shop, or it could be a lot worse than that.”

Craig’s grip on the straps of his backpack tightens til his gloved knuckles go white. Possibilities outlandish and revolting stir rage foul and impotent, raging snakes knotting in his gut.

“I promise to find out what I can today and during the PTA meeting tonight. We’ll protect him as best we can.”

Craig nods once, solemnly. Laura's body collapses into itself, fond worry and loving concern guide her hand to brush a tender hand along her son's cheek. 

"Why didn't you wake me up last night?"

Craig only looks away. Bleak deserts of sandstorms and vicious sunlight had boasted an temporary oasis, sheltering and repleninshing them for the shortest of times.

"We needed to talk, too."

\--------

Clyde had waited in homeroom for Kenny to get himself up, wanting to help but not knowing if he’d be accepted or how he’d do it. In the end, being so indecisive, Clyde ran off to first period before Kenny even stood up.

Two periods later, the poor golden-blond wolf groggily drags himself into the gymnasium. It’s cleared of the normally fixed volleyball net, and tented stations are set up around the corners, nurses bustling about.

Kenny has no willpower to climb the bleacher stairs, push through his peers and all their heat and smells. He does it anyways, spotting Kyle and Stan, whose second period classroom is closer to the gym, and the seats they’ve reflexively saved for Cartman and Kenny.

They just had to choose the row three from the top, rendering Kenny as a panting mess by the time he arrives to their row, holding on to the middle seam of the rim of his hood to cover his face. He only kicks a few legs, unintentionally, dropping with relief into the empty space.

“Kenny, shit, you should go home, dude. I don’t want to get sick.” Kyle leans away from him, indiscreetly stealing Stan’s bubble, covering his nose and mouth quickly.

“M’not sick,” Kenny lies, mustering a small smile.

“You do look really… bad,” Stan adds. Kenny can _hear_ the slit in his eyes. He idly wonders just how wonderfully, magnificently, horrifyingly it’s going to fuck up everything when he is confirmed as an Omega and Stan, at least, tests as an Alpha.

There’s a hundred kids packed into the bleachers; each and every one in the same boat, with a wide variance in who has even heard of the Classifications here, in this town of misdirection and madness.

Another set of eyes seek out Kenny and hold when they find him, brown and warm and concerned. Clyde sits between Token and Craig five rows down, Jimmy, Butters and Kevin Foley all on the same bench. Kenny lifts a hand, tired of smiling, dredging just one more up.

Clyde waves shortly, dropping his hand and turning around. PC Principal is posturing his way into the room, arms askance and legs bowed like he were expecting a bear to challenge him to a wrestling match.

Mister Mackey followed by several teachers trail behind him, along with two women and two men wearing pristine white lab coats, unreadable expressions as they face an assembly of Freshman, all confused and hormonal.

“Attention everybody! I need you to be quiet here. We have a lot to talk about and not a lot of time so we’re gonna get right into it.

These are our specialist from the Colorado Department of Health’s Genetic Classification Branch, they’ll be here this afternoon to perform some painless exams to help you understand the sudden changes that may be affecting your bodies.”

Cartman blusters into the gym, breathing loudly, huffing to move his thick legs quickly enough across the squeaky gym floor. He blubbers his way up the bleachers, uncaring that everyone stares at him. He shoves past Kenny, Kyle and Stan to make the metal bench groan under him.

PC Principal’s right bicep twitches. Cartman wheezes loudly, the microphone rings shrilly, Kenny wants to go home.

“Okay moving on. There’s a lot of misconceptions about what it means to be an Alpha, Classic or otherwise, Beta variance, or Omega. You know I was really angry when I learned that South Park’s population is ninety-six percent Beta. That puts the other Classification minority and prevents proper education on your biology.

I’ve hired on an Omega teacher and a Classic Alpha teacher who are a mated pair to lead  _mandatory_ weekly seminars on the subject, which will continue for the rest of the year.”

A ripple of protest weaves and waves around the spacious room, groans and cries of, “That’s not fair!” issue from more than one student.

“Silence!” PC Principal snaps. “Do you have _any_ idea how important this all is? Even if you class as a Beta this is going to affect you your entire lives. So listen up!” The burly man struts from one side of the gym to the other, sunglasses blacking out his eyes.

“A lot of people think Omegas are weaker than their Beta and Alpha friends, but this isn’t true. Omega’s contribute to society just as much as anyone else. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar and a bigot and that will not be tolerated at my school.

 _Unfortunately_ there are a lot of laws that haven’t caught up with the times. Anyone who tests as an Omega this afternoon is _strongly_ encouraged to make an appointment with Mister Mackey and one of the specialists as soon as possible.”

Kenny shifts uncomfortably, and not just because Stan is still staring at him, but there’s a tender moment of worry for them all. He’s quite positive he will Present as an Omega soon--if he’s not in the middle of it right now--what is the world going to dish at him if so?

“Beta’s are very common,” PC Principal goes on. “They make up the majority of the populations here and many other towns and cities. Some may mistakenly say something like, “Beta’s are _normal_ people”, but that’s completely wrong.

We are all still wolves inside, and Beta’s are no different and no less important to the balance of Alpha and Omega for being common. If we were to run full wolf packs again having Betas would be necessary to provide safety and peace to the pack.

Our last category is Alpha. Okay, Alphas are the second most common classification, mainly because Alpha’s fall on a spectrum of their own. At one end are Classic Alphas, alright? These are rare designations. Most Alphas fall somewhere right of Classic all the way down to Alpha-Beta, where the line is blurry. Alpha-Betas, right, might be able to use an Alpha skill but maybe only one.

Okay I’m handing the mic over to Mackey now, save your questions for the end.”

Mister Mackey, as thin of body and bloated of head as ever mumbles a _‘Thank you’_ into the microphone before clearing his throat.

“Mmkay everyone, I know there’s a lot of fears, mmkay, a-about what being an Alpha, Beta or Omega means. I’ll be extending my office hours to include an hour before school, lunch period and an hour after school for the next two weeks, mmkay?

So i-if you need help adjusting to the results you’re welcome to make an appointment or walk on in, mmkay?”

A student raises their hand on the other side of the gym to Kenny, to Craig, both pretending they’re not as anxious and scared as they are.

“Oh, uh, yes?”

“The Omega went into _Heat at school_!” A girl reminds them all, shrill voice tightly indignant. "The hallways smelled horrid all day! And it's his fault we're all here now!" 

She's unaware how a punch in the face would feel, if she were within Craig's reach.

Mackey waits for a question, but she sits down, and he flounders for a response. “Uh, mmkay, well, if-if a pupil goes into Heat during a school day, we’ll follow protocol and take care of it, mmkay? These things happen, mmkay? It's not that student's fault.”

PC Principal grabs the microphone again, pointing out into the crowd. “I won’t allow bullying of Omegas in our school! Everyone is to treat each other with respect, do you understand me?”

He waits for an answer that never comes. Someone coughs.

“Good. I’m handing the floor over to Mrs. Woodsmall, she comes from the Department of Health’s A-B-O office and will be giving a brief introduction before you file into lines for testing.”

\-------

Kenny ends up in the line with Clyde, Token, Jimmy, Butters, and his own crew. They must have instinctively waited and joined together to end up together, though when Kenny’s not sure, his ability to concentrate drifts in and out like the tide.

As soon as he gets into that tent, leaves with his results and pamphlet, he’s going to drag himself home and put himself to sleep until it’s time to meet Karen at the bus stop. Maybe they can give him something to make this flu-like ache go away.

“Hey Craig,” Kenny interrupts, when the blue-capped brunette is the next in line and lost in thought. Clyde’s joking with Butters and Jimmy abruptly pauses. Stan, Kyle, Token and Cartman also stop what they were doing--phone, a small textbook, another phone, bag of Cheesy Poofs--attention turned to the wobbling boy.

“What?” Craig hardly wants to speak to Kenny when things are fine, simply out of lacking shared interests, but right now--

“Before Tweek went inta Heat like he did, was he feelin’ sick fer a few days?”

His stark, blunt, tactless question draws even more attention from his friends, and a boy in the line over gives Kenny an odd look.

“Tweek gets sick a lot.” Is Craig’s clipped reply. A nurse in white steps out from the tent, looking at her clipboard and then at the line. A girl with tight brown curls and rich brown eyes to match rushes away, a thick pamphlet crushed between her hands.

“Next!” The nurse calls, unnecessarily, already beckoning Craig into the tent.

He follows, heart pounding painfully, the air around him thin and stale. There’s an obvious patients chair, the kind with the wide arms for resting on whilst blood is drawn. Craig takes his spot, wanting only to run away as fast as possible--maybe kidnap Tweek from the coffee shop and leave South Park forever.

“How are you feeling today?” The nurse asks distractedly. She’s young, attractive, and already harried from the number of shocked and unprepared students she’s broken news to already.

Craig only shrugs, instead watching her prepare a needle, cotton swabs and three small vials of chemicals sporting tiny labels crammed with miniscule bolded text.

“Well, are you ready? Choose an arm for me to poke.”

He unzips his blue jacket, drawing out his left arm, laying it on the armrest. She approaches quickly, splitting open an alcohol wipe and cleaning the whole of his inner elbow. It’s not long before he’s got a tourniquet on his upper arm, a needle drawing blood from him easily.

She doesn’t take much, and for a moment the filled vial is set aside while she uses one to swipe behind his ear and the other under his tongue. She pours his blood into a petri dish from a stack. All these materials have each of the three chemicals dribbled onto them, one at a time.

Craig waits, nerves eating him alive, needing to have one answer and one alone. But time passes--only a minute, surely--before the drops are repeated. Again, Craig waits, and again the nurse drips solutions and looks for a reaction.

After the third time she sighs, straightening up. “What was your name?”

“Craig Tucker.”

“Birthday?”

“January twenty-five.”

“You’ll be…?”

“Fifteen. What did my test say?” Craig snaps, hot behind the ears, the rushing ocean crashing around him in a building crescendo.

“Unfortunately it’s currently unclear. You aren’t testing positive in any of the three Classifications. Normally that would imply you’re mostly likely a Beta--”

She couldn’t possibly understand the flash of devastation across his face, squished under a tarnished and weathered mask.

“--But a Beta would have even a small reaction to these pure pheromones. All I can say for now is that you’re not Presenting, nor is your body producing Pre-Presentation hormones. You could be a Beta; you could be anything. I think you’re just too young to test.”

Craig stands up and out of the chair. “But my boyfriend went into _Heat_ on Tuesday. We didn’t even know he Presented--he’s Omega--and he’s younger than me.”

She gives him a look that tempts both his middle fingers, pitying and a little sad for reasons he doesn’t care about.

“I’m sorry. You were hoping to be an Alpha, weren’t you? That’s just so--, but, don’t give up yet, okay? You might still Present as one. Try to be around your boyfriend as much as possible when he’s nearing or in his Heat, if he’ll let you, it might help influence what you are. I can’t promise anything, of course.”

Craig deflates, emptied of emotions and faith in the world and fearing for the things he can hold in his arms slipping away. She holds out all one of all three info-brochures for Craig to take.

They both leave the tent, and Craig says nothing to anyone, ignoring them all who call to him, leaving the gym as fast as he wants people to see him go.

He wants to throw out the stupid glossy papers, but if anything in them could help him and Tweek he’d have to keep it.

Everything around him feels crushed and dark, bitterly cold and hopeless. He retrieves his cell phone--

No calls, no texts.

No Tweek.

\-------

Clyde hates getting blood drawn. Alien objects under his skin sucking away his blood. The colostomy bag attached to his lower belly is invasive enough. So when his elbow is clean and arm in a tourniquet, she approaches with the needle shining and sharp he looks away, braced for the inevitable prick of pain.

It doesn’t last as long as he expected, but relief is a deep sigh when the bandaid replaces metal. She swabs his mouth and behind his ears and pours a little bit of each chemical on each sample.

\-------

Clyde practically bounces out of the tent station, looking for his friends who were ahead in line. Kyle, Cartman, Token and Stan are in a small circle, voices loud and competitive. Kyle is red-faced with restrained laughter; Cartman’s face is red with rage, the pressure boiling under all that weight.

Butters lets out a little cheer that sounds something like, “Beta-Buddies!”, but Clyde’s not paying close attention. He catches Token’s eye, and they hold up matching pamphlets with a chuckle and a toothy grin. Moving on, he looks for a somewhat-familiar blond, really wanting to find out what Kenny is. If he asked himself, there's no answer Clyde would find to explain why. It doesn't matter, this is how his body feels.

Maybe they’re both--Clyde can’t see him anywhere in the gym, and Kenny doesn’t have a phone for Clyde to text. So with a jovial wave he sets out for the cafeteria, thinking perhaps Kenny’d gone for lunch, but the cafeteria is remarkable empty, most students opting to go home as soon as possible.

Next he aims for where he thinks Kenny’s locker is. Hoping to himself that he’d luck out and find the oddly drawing wolf. Clyde rounds a hallway corner, and there he is, leaning against his locker spinning the lock aimlessly. A wrinkled informational pamphlet is stuffed into the shallow pocket of his hoodie, and Clyde can’t discern it from where he stands.

“Hey Kenny,” He alerts the other boy of his presence, trotting down the row to get to Kenny’s side. Clyde rocks on his toes, waiting for eyes of an unusual blue to find his. As the seconds tick by, Clyde’s beaming smile fades away. “Hey… you okay?”

Kenny finally looks at him with eyes hazy from fever, pupils dilated, ashen skin beaded with sweat. He manages a quirking of lips at his excitable friend.

“Think y’could help me home again, Clyde?” How his name sounds on that bizarrely Southern tongue drives shivers down Clyde's spine.

“Uh--yes! Sure! Can I---Can I carry your stuff?” Kenny nods slowly, though he’d prefer to refuse out of pride. Today’s not the day to linger there, so he'll let this volunteer help.

He wants to ask Clyde about his own belongings, but the energy to move air through his larynx is lacking. Clyde grabs his backpack, stuffing the books Kenny points to into it and shouldering the lot with ease.

“If you need to hold on to me,” Clyde mumbles awkwardly, after they leave the school, after Kenny clutches him tightly to avoid a nasty fall on the sinister ice waiting on the stairs out. “I-I don’t mind, um, cuz you’re really sick,”

Kenny nods, allowing his slight weight to rest against Clyde’s thick arm until it moves, bracing around him, just in time for the cold to sap what may be the last of his bones away.

“Damn, Kenny--this isn’t good! You should go to the hospital--”

“Can’t,” Mumbles the ill wolf, breathing shallowly, all at once too hot and too cold. The nurse didn’t know why he was so sick. He imagines he can see the shadowy tendrils of Death’s cloak reminding him he will always submit to his unique karma. “No ‘nsurance. Gotta git Karen later,”

“Can I take you to my house then? I think you need a shower and some food.”

They shuffle a few more steps. A yellow school bus pulls away from the curb as Clyde hauls them over to it. He watches it drive away, miffed--he's sure the bus driver saw them.

“It’s closer, too.” He finally adds.

Kenny’s not sure he’ll live long enough to get to the Donovan house, but he’s not got the ability to refuse, and if he does die, Clyde will never know. So Kenny opens his mouth, clearing his words enough to whisper out a quiet sentence.

Clyde plays the words over and over in his head, giddy despite each belabored step of the pair, ignored and shunned by their schoolmates, all rushing home in their own way.

Kenny seems to sparkle under his arm, some the roughly sewn patches holding his only coat barely together sport fading marker--words, once. Distractedly Clyde wonders what they said, knowing they would never be as electrifying as what Kenny whispered to him this cold afternoon.


	8. La La Into Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny's day goes exactly as he expected it to. Tweek wishes he could go unseen. Kyle doesn't think any of this shit makes sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... look who it is... it's you! Hi!
> 
> I'm sorry there's been such a gap between chapters. I have a lot of reasons and excuses but it's simply taken this long to get the words in order, and even so it's a little short today, and not my favorite rendition. I'm saving the PTA meeting for the next chapter, and instead put in some things I didn't intend to yet, but it worked ;3
> 
> Mind the new tags, luvs and feel free to ask me about any of them if you need to.
> 
> *PS. I don't remember all the details about Pip to be more accurate than my best guess--does it matter much? Noooo...
> 
> Thank you Kindly to everyone who kudo's and commented, it's why I was able to put words together in the end. I thought of it daily, not wanting to keep people waiting (even though I did), wanting to be worthy of the kind words. This is for you~

 

* * *

 

When Kyle is overcome with confused fury--directionless, seeking, baffled and growling--like he is now, it’s a very physical activity, with coiling tension drawn down each limb, racing through his veins into tight fists. His rage glows in a blush as red as the curls of hair he keeps stuffing and releasing from an undersized green ushanka. It has been too small for years but he refuses to be rid of it, instead focusing his wrath on the fraying fleece.

After the fifth unsuccessful gathering of hair under the hat he screeches some unintelligible curse and hurls it in an unsatisfying lob across the room. He turns to his desk for something else to fidget with and snatches up a congealing tub of hair gel, its sweet chemical scent alluring to him in a supernatural way, the temptation to _go Jersey_ thrumming like the shrill twang of an electric guitar.

Moving calmly up off the bed, Stan sighs loudly, taking the product from Kyle’s clenching hands and setting it to an empty space on the nearby bookshelf, intentionally above Kyle’s height, with all the books Kyle shoved up there because he’s outgrown them, but, like the hat, hasn’t found a way to make himself let go of. He then tries to trail a hand unknowingly laced with soothing pheromones over the redhead’s arm, but Kyle shies away.

“Do you _know_ what they’ve kept from us?” He snarls, teeth grit and grinding, dark eyed with conflict.

Stan shakes his head. “No, dude. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”

“ _Everything_ to do with our secondary sexes!”

“I guess, but so? Our parents are idiots. What did they think was going to happen?”

 _"'So’_ ?” Kyle repeats, disgusted with how calm Stan remains. “Alphas are really highly respected--doesn’t it strike you as _weird_ that our parents never talked about wanting us to be Alphas? My mom, at least--it doesn’t make sense! Wouldn’t you have wanted to know you could be a--”

“Chill man, you’re gunna trigger your diabetes like that.”

“ _No I won’t_!” Kyle snaps, clamping the bridge of his nose between two fingers and muttering a quick prayer to Moses for patience.

“Our parents are all Betas, right? And before SoDoSoPa and Whole Foods the only Alphas and Omegas in town were probably Chef and Mister Slave. If they even were.” Stan goes on, musing softly. “What if they really just thought we’d all be Betas like them?”

Shaking his head, Kyle retrieves his hat, wringing it contemplatively. His left eye is twitching--irritation and agitation repressed to a nervous tick.

“I don’t know. Maybe everyone who moved here secretly knew each other---but Token’s parents moved here after ours and they’re _also_ Betas.” He sighs loudly, dissatisfied. “Something about this isn’t right...”  

\-----

Tweek stands exiled.

A door separates him from Craig and his family, the confined space of the house an eggshell broken open into a gaping maw, and the white teeth of a massive beast are scattered over the ground, black veins leading vessels through the body of South Park.

He feels the open space, the endless sky, crushing him from above. An invisible noose tightens around his neck, a sickly coil tugging him towards the other side of town, and '-- _it’s not because Craig wouldn’t keep me_ ,' as Tweek forces himself to mumble reassuringly to his own mind, but, '-- _because of work. My parents.'_ Craig will be there when he’s done, ready to dispel the nightmares accumulated throughout the waking day.

Across town is only blocks away. He needs only to walk the end of the street, turn before the train tracks, pass through the park, up the road, to the right, past the buttery aroma of popcorn aging on a quiet day, and there--fluorescent glass hell; a cube prison disguised by the mask of cute aprons and lilting music and soft words.

Perhaps if he times it right he can sneak into the back without being seen, and pretend he’d been there all day. Hiding in the dark back room is something like comfort, a spot where at a quick glance he can go unnoticed, and that’s what he needs--to go unseen.

Everything appears hostile--the lamp posts looming like gallows, houses concealing murderers and monsters, windows like eyes watching him. Crows with beaks of steel caw cries of impending death just out of sight. Bushes hide predators stalking, prowling for the attack. Vulnerability is a familial tremor, intimate and encompassing, holding him underwater until every last bubble bursts in silent symphony.

Tweek rubs at his neck, wondering if he’s only imagining a collar around it, a long lead pulled taut in rebuke, demanding he attend the hand at the end. Tweek’s shoulder jerks toward his ear, a short hiccup in his throat.

If he doesn’t hurry his mom or dad may come back to Craig’s house and see him there--and if they see him there--

 _‘Dad’s going to sell me into slavery!’_ He once knew, skin crawling and pulse thrumming a rapid staccato. He remembered being told as much--in front of all his friends who might not have been his friends.

He steps off the porch, brain going hot and weightless with sudden panic-- _’Isn’t that what they’re going to do? Sell you?’_

The thought is so horrifying he nearly blacks out, all the air turned to shards of glass in his lungs.

_‘N-NO! Don’t think that way! Craig won’t let that happen to you--’_

Tweek’s feet take him step by rote step towards the end of the block, ready to cut diagonal through the park. _‘Craig won’t allow them to… i-it’s not what you think, Tweek, you’re just paranoid. But then why aren’t you allowed to be with Craig anymore?’_

That hand that rested possessively on his thigh is everything he denies and everything he fears.

\-----

Kenny gets heavier as they walk, for gravity doubles down on the muscles and tendons of his legs, sticking them to the earth as he attempts to lift them away. Clyde grunts at having to hike Kenny up to his shoulder again.

“You shouldn’t have gone to school, man. You’re dead weight.”

Kenny huffs a laugh, sardonic and wry and going right over Clyde’s head. Fevered blue eyes seek out the brown of Clyde’s, but they’re avoiding him. “Ain’t that th’truth?” He would shrug, but his shoulders are as level as a ski slope and it’s pointless to do. “Sorry.”

Clyde’s shoulders bounce for the both of them, and he hefts Kenny again. Color stains his cheeks--effort, surely, despite Kenny’s relative lack of natural weight and the brunette being a linebacker. “I just hope I don’t get sick.” Tactless, Clyde blurts out his re-running thought, making it the sometimes easy-going Kenny’s problem.

His voice is soothingly serious when he replies. “Y’r gunna fine, this ain’t no contagious flu.” People rarely ever catch whatever kills Kenny, so he doubts Clyde would have any reason to worry even if it weren’t related solely to being an Omega. Of course, Kenny feels the sharp nipping of the cold air and lets the thick, warm body besides him to give him some comfort.

They lumber together to Clyde’s house. Unexpectedly there’s a car in the driveway, lines of fresh tracks in the snow showing it’d been parked recently. Clyde pauses nervously; he has a reason to be home, what with everyone being dismissed post sex check, but his dad has been distant and disinterested in having Clyde’s friends over since his wife passed on.

“I can…” Kenny coughs out, icy air scratching at the raw skin of his throat. He noticed the car, the tenseness of the Alpha. It only twinges a little, a needle sized prick of _oh._ “I can go home on mah own,” Kenny needn’t say he meant getting home by way of lying down on any road, where upon a driver will never be able see him until too late, as is his luck, and he’ll wake up hopefully feeling better in his own bed.

Clyde seems to shake out of whatever nervousness got to him, and shakes his head, hiking Kenny back up his arm once more. “Not a chance. Dad won’t say anything to you.” He holds back the next bit, though not for long.

Kenny just grunts something to encourage Clyde to say it.

“Just pretend you aren’t sick when you say ‘Hi’, I guess.”

After the death of his wife, Clyde’s father began acting stranger by the passing year. He never dated or spoke of re-marrying, but he became quiet, paranoid, and watchful over his son; unsuccessfully discouraging him from dating, from sports, and from excess amount of time with his gang of friends.

There’s also no secret kept as poorly as the true opinion most families hold of the McCormicks.

Kenny snorts quietly, doggedly allowing Clyde to walk them pace after pace up the driveway and through the unlocked front door.

Clyde’s father is reclined on the large and comfy looking couch just past the entryway, the television in front of him droning some daytime talk show that the lazy-eyed man is barely attending to. He looks up to the sound of the door, dark chocolate eyes going narrow suspiciously to see the two boys.

“What are you doing home?”

“School ended early after they did the pheromone testing thing.” Clyde explains quickly. “What are you doing home, dad?”

The man shrugs, uninterested in answering questions. Kenny is doing his best to stand on his own, but the door frame takes most his weight.

“Kenny.”

“Hi sir,” He flashes a toothy grin--displaying gaps where dentistry would’ve been nice. “Hope yer havin’ a good day?”

But he’s ignored, an eyebrow raised and directed at Clyde.

“Kenny sprained his ankle on some ice,” Clyde invents quickly, praising himself for his unnaturally quick thinking. “So I’m gunna let him rest here for awhile.”

Kenny subtly lifts one foot, resting his toes delicately on the floor, ready to hobble. It’s hard enough standing, sick-- probably dying--from something that shouldn’t be more than a symptom of a later dates event. It will be his luck, as he knows it, to die to learn he’s an Omega.

“That’s good of you,” Clyde’s dad grunts, turning away from them. “He should go home before the PTA meeting at six.”

“Okay, dad.” Clyde takes a few short steps, holding an arm out for Kenny to balance on while he hops to the steps. Once out of view, the boys climb quickly up to the second floor and lock themselves in Clyde’s room.

Clyde’s room is friendlier than the rest of the house, with scattered items and a computer on a desk, posters of sports and women--a guy after Kenny’s own fluid tastes--big breasts and long hair shining from carefully angled lights and glistening with sweat or sea water.

One blond haired blue-eyed bombshell, braids, curls and ribbons adorning her hair, posing in a long purple and white dress, catches his bleary eyes--she reminds him of something from long ago--it’s hard to recall through the ogres pounding rice inside of his head.

“So, uh…” Clyde more or less drops Kenny to the floor, whom, having not realized Clyde was going to let go of him, lands hard on his ass. “...Sorry. Do you want some water or something?”

Kenny flops onto his side and curls up right there on the floor, inches from a pair of muddy tennis shoes and socks so dirty the toes are nearly black. A foot away is a pair of boxers and jeans. Normal boy stuff, Kenny supposes, sniffing shallowly. His sense of smell is quite awful, barely registering the things which should be utterly disgusting him; a product of his life in the towns dumpster.

“Sure,” He finally slurs out. “Thanks.”

Clyde nods quickly, turning from the room to fetch some for him.

Water won’t help him now; Kenny should know--no, he sent Clyde from the room so the husky wolf wouldn’t watch him die. His heart is beating slowly, sluggishly; oceans and rivers of blood rushing around his ears, chaotic, cells running into each other and collapsing, losing the need to carry oxygen so suddenly they don’t know where to go, and simply stop.

\-----

Going unseen, Tweek knows, is difficult in real life, when one’s goal is to actually do so. All his years he’s been either completely hidden behind the curious chaos of South Park’s main attractions, or uncomfortably spotlit, watched by the hungry, judging eyes of friends and foes alike. Neither had ever left him satisfied, only covering him in a film of faux relief and anxious responsibility.

Nothing compares to the way his father looks at him; proprietary and calculating, distressing Tweek with the attentive displays of an inventor looking at their creations and wondering how best to use them. He’s shifting his eyes away from one of those drowning glares, wondering but not wanting to know what horrible things are passing on behind the man’s muddy eyes.

“You know, son,” Richard begins, voice softly musical and calm. “It really is a miracle that you’re an Omega.” Tweek’s shoulders hunch instinctively, ears pricking at the attention the word garners from the group of four taking up a table near the front glass. “We were starting to worry about you, your mother and I.”

“Yes, dear,” Chimes in Susan Tweak, chuckling softly. “We wouldn’t know how to take care of you for much longer.”

“ _Jesus Christ,_ ” Tweek bites out, hands clutching his pink apron. Shame crawls over him, dragging goosebumps over his arms in a shiver. “I’m not _that_ much of a hassle, am I?” He doesn’t wait for any cues from his parents before those hands migrate up and into scraggly ended hair. “Oh, God, I _am_? I can’t handle that!”  

“Now now,” Richard interrupts, lifting a coffee mug to his lips and taking a long indulgence of it. “We simply mean that you’re an adult now, and being an Omega is like the being the last flower to bloom in a field of morning glories and marigolds drifting in the lightest of breezes finally opening up to receive the sun.”

“ _What?_ Why must you always turn to metaphors?” Tweek’s voice strains over his agitation. He searches frantically for a reason to disappear and finds one in the half-empty sugar caddy on the nearest table.

“I-I’m going to fill the sugars!” The Omega snatches it up and promptly flees to the back room, his father’s mouth half-open to begin another convoluted point to make, and all eyes watching him.

Inside the loud room is dark, with the coffee grinder slowly turning gears and crushing beans, the sacks of sugar and beans, the dim light gave the feeling of a factory, pumping out special family brews into the veins of the townsfolk.

He only gets a minute of blessed _alone_ before the door opens to the back room and his mother steps in, feet nearly silent in that whimsical, gliding way of hers. She has always been one of the most elegant women in South Park, with an odd, offbeat grace and voice that doesn’t suit such a rough town, or such a sharply angled son.

Tweek dives for the sugar, holding onto one of the burlap bags as if he could lift it and chuck it as a weapon.

“Darling son,” Susan calls. “There are some things you are just going to have to hear and accept.”

“Why do you have to tell m-me _here?_ ” He asks, roiling with humiliation and fear. “Can’t you wait until we get home? Where no one else can hear you?”

“We don’t understand your concern, love. You’re just going to have to accept what you are. We accept you--don’t you see that?”

Tweek’s words gurgle, tripping into each other before they barely have formed and he relinquishes the sugar for his apron, twisting it between bony hands. He’s being ignored, again, his needs and wants and she doesn’t even notice.

“Mom, _please_ , I don’t want to be an Omega at the shop!”

“You’re going to have to become comfortable with it being public knowledge, Tweek.” She disengages his hands from the wrinkling fabric and holds them in her own. “It may be the only thing that saves you, in the end. Your father and I have a big responsibility in looking after you, and you’re going to cooperate with us.”

He looks up at her with eyes bright and alert, tears and hurt a shiny film over his hazel. Her face is dead to him--a blank canvas with a drawn-on smile and nothing inside. Paranoid scenarios swirl and race for attention, every one of them equally likely in this hell hole. He bites his lips until a better, more diplomatic sentence comes to the front of the line.

“D-did dad call me an adult? I-I’m not--I’m only fourteen! I-- _agh--_ don’t understand!”

His mother pauses, but it’s not long enough to be a human wolf pause, no, more like the computer of a robot not learned enough in human interaction to pause until it appears to have felt some kind of hesitation.

“Your father and I have been discussing charging you rent until you have married and moved out. You’ve been working for a long time now, and really, adults shouldn’t stay with their parents and not pay rent.”

“ _RENT_?!” He yelps, jumping out of her light hold easily, tripping over the sugar sack and falling back onto his hands and rear. “I can’t pay rent! You guys don’t--you don’t even pay me!” Frustration is a dark and tight in the boy’s belly, clenching fists and arguments that never went anywhere.

“We can’t afford to pay you, dove, you know that. That’s why you--”

He doesn’t want to hear her tell him they had a kid so they wouldn’t have to have employees.

“F-fine, then-- _urgh--_ I’ll move in with Craig! I’ll get a real job and pay them instead!”

Susan’s face goes ash pale, features tightening is disappointed shock. “You would do such a thing to Craig and his family? To us?”

Tweek’s stomach drops and his shaking hands feel numb.

“Honey, an Omega can’t live without an Alpha, and if Craig isn’t an Alpha--”

“No!” Tweek bites, his fingers curling into his hair as irritated panic corners him. “I-I know Craig will be an Alpha, he has to be! He’s going to!”

“Tweek, darling…”

“I’m--I’m still going to get a real job! I’ll move out!”

Susan’s expression hardens, a face he’s never seen before, one expressing too many emotions for him to handle all of them starting with _disappointed, and…_

“We will discuss this later.”

\-----

Unearthly red eyes meet Kenny’s blues death-washed into gray as they open again in the underworld; Hell. He makes to sit up slowly, and Damien leans back as he does, granting him the space to do so. A vicious little sneer cuts the son of Satan’s lips into sharp points. He’s an air of triumph around him, unholy amusement granting him all his wishes.

Kenny regards him warily, though he has nothing to fear from the devil spawn.

“What?” He rasps, his ghostly larynx waking up slowly.

“ _Omega,_ ” Damien crows, grin bearing teeth. “You’re a fucking _Omega_.”

“Yeah, I guess so,”

“Puberty killed you!” Damien spits with devilish glee.

Kenny groans, burrowing his flushing face in his hands with frustration. “Presenting killed you! You died to learn just what you _are!_ ”

That’s just what he needs--to be the butt of another joke, another jab at his very nature.

“ _Ha ha_ , asshole. Fuck.” A lingering illness in his belly is a cringe and a shiver. It’s not fair that he still feel physical symptoms after death; it is Hell, he concedes.

“Poor bitch,” Damien snickers. He stands up and steps back, producing a cigarette from nothingness. It ignites with a small flame just as the filter touches his lips. He exhales a plume of smoke over Kenny’s head. “The chaos up there is hilarious.”

Now on his feet, Kenny has to wait for Damien to lead him through the gate--an old arrangement when being harassed by demons grew too irritating for Satan to repeatedly sort out. He may have also been hoping his son would make another friend, but then he was blind to how much of a shit Damien can be and how little Kenny wants to deal with that.

Red eyes frowns at the ghost, displeased with how quiet Kenny becomes when he’s dead. “Pip will be happy to see you.” He decides to throw in. “He’s taken up baking.”

“I thought ya hated his cookin’?” Kenny asks, thinking with mild feelings of Phillip, a boy everyone tormented and who died very young, and at Damien’s hands.

“I don’t hate anything he does.” Damien answers easily. “But he’s terrible at everything.”

A quiet laugh is drawn from Kenny’s breathless chest. He follows the Antichrist through Hell’s welcome gate, with it’s one purple plastic lei twitching in the heated breeze; that was left over from a luau Satan hosted several years ago, still stick on a crack some fifty or so feet up.

Demons linger on every ledge and rock, every sharp and pointed surface that nothing should perch on. Screams echo from tortured souls and bounce between the canyons and crevice.

They move in silence, as Kenny doesn’t feel like being chatty right after dying and Damien barely cares to talk to the other wolf. Kenny catches Damien casting the most suspicious of glances at him more than once, but he can’t determine the cause.

“What?” He finally demands.

“Pip would’ve been an Omega too.” Damien blurts, turning them down an alley, cobblestones peeking out from under layers of dust and dirt, a puddle of long congealed blood marks the territory of a bulging trash can.

“Huh?” Kenny wasn’t expecting that, and it throws him off.

“Were he alive.”

“Oh,”

Damien nods, and they continue on without words until they reach a nondescript door in a long cement wall. Damien taps the surface thirteen times in rapid succession and the door opens, swinging inward.

In the doorway, adorned with a dirty apron, Phillip stands just a few inches shorter than Kenny, his growth permanently stunted by death, but he is not the eight year-old who passed away, but fourteen now, like the rest of his former class. It’s the way of death; what one believes and what one knows plays into their shape, giving age, looks, thoughts, maturity.

Apparently death doesn’t cater to the physical symptoms of puberty, however.

“Cheerio there Kenneth,” Phillip greets cheerily. “What brings you here today?”

“Food,” Kenny replies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the shorter blond. “Damien says ya have been bakin’ n’ I didn’ wanna miss out on that.”

“Oh goody! I am quite pleased to share! Come in!” He steps aside, allowing Kenny past him. Damien backs him to the wall and takes a kiss from the smiling boy before allowing the door to shut.

Kenny takes in the counters covered in trays of cookies that are burned, muffins that are sag mushily in the middle, bread that never rose, and two pies which must have exploded in the oven for how their inside fillings goop over the sides of the tins. A layer of black smoke turned charcoal covers the wall behind the stove.

“I have plenty to choose from, so don’t be shy to try everything,” Smiles Phillip proudly. “If there’s something you like I can always make more.”

“Thanks, Pip.” Kenny doesn’t care if the food tasted like shit, there’s a lot and he’s allowed to eat it.

“If you barf I’m throwing you into the lava.” Damien warns.


	9. Guess What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well... who expected this? It's not what you think!

Merry Christmas, blessed Yule, happy Hanukkah and happy Kwanzaa! And to all others, may this season of joy be upon you. 

 

I have a gift for everyone who has been following this fanfic for as long as they have, I have continued to work on this fanfic over the last month or so, but not in the form it is currently in. I just… so much time passed since I wrote the original that my understanding and use of the ABO universe has so much expanded and been refined. Thank you Omega!Bakugou, thank you BNHA for being a major distraction, along with starting my first semester of my bachelor’s degree. Anyways, the realities of ABO in this fic should be much more in line with what people are used to, with only slight adjustments to account for the South Park universe. 

What does this all mean?

I have re-written this fic from chapter one. I know that sounds bad, like the eventuality of just canceling it entirely is around the corner but it's not. I have almost caught up to roughly where the fic currently leaves off, but it's such a big change that it's hard to connect the timelines. But that being said, I have at east 6 chapters written out. I have been re-playing Fractured But Whole and re-watching pertinent SP episodes to rebuild my writing mojo. I will fucking finish this fanfic (and then the Hogwarts cross over). I'll be writing as much as I can over my brief winter break and hopefully have enough to post weekly without fail for many weeks to come.

 

I am going to be posting chapter 1 as a new fic under the title "The Fevers We Bare".

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175119 <\---the link

Thank you all so much. I hope the re-write lives up to all expectations.


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